There is a house on a hill. I like to go there after school.
Aren’t any math equations for me to solve,
aren’t any classes I have to revolve around school.
Not in my house on a hill.
There was my mom in an apron, she hugged me.
I saw a garden full of veggies, ripe and vibrant in greens and yellows.
I walk into the house and all I saw was the stairs.
My mommy leading me to the dining table.
It was a cold night out and I was working hard.
On the table were my favorite foods.
Curry, Pad Thai, fish sauce and brown eggs.
My mouth watered from the thought of food I had had been lacking.
My stomach growled, howling like the wind for it to be fed.
I ate the delectable meal and lick off my plate.
My sisters laughed and jested at me.
Once I am done we all sit on the couch and discuss life, and how are day was. Something I plan on keeping as a tradition of my own.
The conversations turn from happy and humorous experiences to tender, heart-rendering, soul drenching ones.
We talk about friends and how my sis wants new ones.
How I love my friends to death. And how the elementary kids don’t dote too much on the topic.
I smiled to myself, thinking how much joy there was in my house, oops I mean home.