Sometimes I stroll through old houses, thinking about the past, trying to imagine the future.
All the laughter that you heard once, in the now silent rooms, all the tears that dropped on the dusty floors.
I walk slowly through the empty hallway, tickling the walls with my fingers. I imagine the last sun rays of autumn, falling through the narrow windows. I can smell the fresh pie someone left to cool out in the kitchen.
I imagine living here when I am older. All the dust is gone, the rooms are filled with furniture and life. A fire is crackling in the fireplace, the house is warm and welcoming. I close my eyes and can smell the old books. Somewhere in the house, my beloved ones are making noises.
I sit down in an old chair and smile. I enjoy the silence while watching the dust particles dance in front of the big windows. The cold floor piles tingle under my feet. As I stand up and walk through the door, warm sun rays welcome me in the present.