I AM THE HOUSE. - by Laseeee

I breathe...Like all walls do, but for some reason humans only think we have ears.The floors hum, groaning in pain under weight they’ve felt hundreds of times.Every chair, every table, every lamp, every crooked picture frame, they shift with me, moving subtly, leaning, balancing, adjusting.They carry the weight of the living, quietly inhaling their comfort and exhaling stillness.Tonight, the rooms are crowded.They see me, but they do not care.They use me to rest, to lock lips, they press hands against my surfaces as they stumble, trying to maintain drunken balance.But they do not feel the pulse beneath the plaster. Humans talk too much, their laughter is like fragile glass. They dance, they clink glasses, they laugh, never observant enough, never grateful enough.The staircase trembles under their careless feet as they run to make use of the beds.The floorboards flex like ribs in a chest, alive with the feeling of extra weight the beds now hold. Tables tilt toward corners. Chairs shuffle quietly to brace themselves.It’s all too much to handle, and I can only hold them for so long. So tonight, I must let go. It’s tradition.A ceiling beam cracks. Dust rains like gray snow. The walls sigh, pressing inward.Furniture slides together in silence like a deliberate choreography. Every cabinet leans, every sofa shifts, every lamp tilts, all moving like a pulse, a heartbeat, a warning.But they do not notice. Some lost to wine and laughter, some in the arms of their partner."Well, I tried". I tell myself as the living collapse into my arms.I fold the rooms around them. I twist the staircases. The chandeliers tilt, swinging gently, as if to lull them into disbelief.I held the weight of the humans, and they did not see my patience. They did not see the years of memory in my boards, my nails, my beams.So tonight, they will be punished. Sirens arrive too late. Red lights smear across the windows. They drag bodies out, dead.I let the new ones go with the bodies.I let them go because I know months later, more will return. I’ll rebuild myself. The rooms will settle, dust drifting through the air like smoke from some old fire. Floors will straighten.I will breathe again. The floors will hum. The staircases will whisper under weight again. Tables and chairs will align themselves. My walls would hear.I will hold them, but I will let them go.I AM THE HOUSE I have done this before and I will do it again.

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