A little house
In a little town,
In a little state,
In a not so little country,
In a little planet,
Orbiting a little star.

It's not the walls that make a house,
But the air within,
The little breeze that refreshes
At specific spots on the living room,
It's the sound of voices still echoing,
Mostly about happy times,
It's the images reflected in pictures,
In the mirror, in our minds.
It's all we can't see, hear or touch,
It's all the color layers beneath,
It's all the invisible footprints
That creates stories out of pressure imprinted.

A house is everything but its walls.