In this house that we built

Our hearts are like old houses.

You tear things down that are decaying, you break things accidentally.

Time becomes engraved in the memory of the walls. Your presence becomes part of it, in the wearing down of the steps. Nothing can stop this.

It is the inevitable decay that the presence of human life brings.

And you keep moving forward, because that's what you do, isn't it?

I suppose there's good parts, better parts.

The parts where you build up the things that were once merely good and you make them better.

Sure, when you leave, the place looks almost unrecognizable to the uninformed, but that's a good thing... isn't it?

And maybe, just maybe, in this house that we built, the love that we have completes those parts of us that don't fit right away.

It's not us that need to change to fit each other, it's the way we love.

Isn't it?