My children were born in you. My career as an author was begun in your kitchen. My marriage too.
You have never been quite the right house–always a little isolated, your street a little busy. But you have been, in the end, perfect. The last 6 years have been the very happiest years of my life, and I can’t help being a little scared to leave you. Because I can’t know what the next house will be, or bring to me.
The only time I have lived so long under a single roof, I was a child. I’m not a child now, but I feel like one tonight, as I sleep for the last time within your very happy walls.
Thank you, house. I had no idea what you’d mean to me. No clue at all.