A House

There is a house that appears in my dreams. It has appeared in my dreams as long as I can remember. It has three floors, an attic and a basement. The halls are narrow, the rooms a bit small, but with very tall ceilings. What I remember most, though are the basement and attic.

The attic starts out like a normal floor, with sloping ceilings. The room is small, and there are walls on either side of it. I walk through a door to the back part. It gets smaller, but it is still livable. There is one more door, much smaller, which was probably once a secret passage, but is no longer secret. It leads to a tiny closet, where you can just sit up and stretch your legs. It would be a perfect place to hide, if needed.

The basement is enormous. It has a dirt floor, for most of it. Some of it was paved with concrete, but not all. There are storage units in the basement. They have no light, and the doors stick. In my dreams, I'm terrified to go near them, lest someone close me in, and I can't get out. There is only one hanging bulb, and the place needs to be cleaned. I always start planning to pave the rest and get in an expert to dry it out. The stairs also need to be replaced.

In the attic, there is a wooden rocking chair of some hard, but light colored wood. It is as light as pine, but as hard as cherry. It is ornately carved, and I don't touch it. There isn't much in the way of furnishings throughout the house, and that is the only thing that ever stands out.

When I wake up, I miss that house with the force of heartbreak. I have no idea where I saw this house. I know it well, and I want it, a lot. I find myself homesick for a place that I'm not even sure exists.