i have been thinking about these old houses and why i love them so. i think it is a desire to adopt a history that is not mine. these lives lived in them. happiness and sorrow all bound in horsehair and hay insulation. the struggles and the stories. the children raised, the families built.
do you remember that house we looked at in oak bay, two blocks from willows. right after or before we moved in to taylor? it was six bedrooms and two kitchens. it was $300,000. my god, i loved that house. i wanted it so bad. you thought it odd and uncomfortable. i wanted to flip taylor and buy that house. i think i should have been more vocal. it sold this summer for 1.5 million. though i wouldn't have sold. i heard voices in that house. i drive by it every time i am in victoria.
i thought i loved campbell, but it was a desire to reclaim my youth, and as it turns out my youth is drowning in bad memories, and campbell only brought those home to me every day.
i have realized that i am searching for a home, have been for a long time. my rental feels like home, and i am sad to see it go, but, now, i own a home with a history so much better than my own.
my favourite house with you, the one with the best, most intimate memories is cook street, an old home. i remember every day we spent there. those were our golden moments, i hold them close to my heart.
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