Care for your home and she will care for you.
My home is alive. She breathes. She rises with the sun, stretching in the light. Her old bones crackle, twist and pop in the warmth. She yawns, awakening with those who dwell within her.
My home feels. She cringes at the cold. Protests with each dropping digit. She groans in the rain, and laughs at the snow.
My home listens. She records every gossip, quietly laughs at stupid jokes, and you can hear her whisper in every echo in the hall.
I care for my home. She holds me, as I weep.