You are the houses in suburban cul-de-sacs;
Polished, shiny marbled counter tops
Plush carpet on waxed, heavy wood floors
Collections of perfect china displayed in antique cabinets
Matching curtains to center pieces
Sparkling  champagne and spotless window panes.
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While I am houses hidden in alley ways;
Worn kitchen tiles
Hand-me-down book cases
Collecting dust
Collecting memories in photos on a lone refrigerator
Every breath and sigh stowed in cracks beneath my feet
The whir of aged radiators producing heat.
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We are houses whose outsides are structured accordingly
But inside, our unique personality resides.