I am from the small one story houseFrom the clustered rooms and tacky colored walls.I am from the nails, that stuck out of the backyard porch.I am from the treasure chest that layed in my room,The place where my imagination brought inanimate objects to life, andFrom the forts made of old fashioned sofa cushions.  I am from a place that contained 5, a place I called home.I am from a place that had loving parents and caring siblings.I am from the teachings of the almighty, The Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, introduced to me by my mother. I am from the early mornings and soon to come late nightsFrom the long days and sudden sleeps.I am from living day by day I am from the desperate desire to be home again. I am from the ripped blue comforter, the red shouldered bugs, and the lonely palm tree.I am from the squeaking sounds the doors made when they were opened. I am from the plethora amount of deceased pet goldfish.I am from the old fashion wooden television.I am from the one story house.I am from the irritating mosquito bites, the dirty chandelier with a million pieces of glass  and the black wiener dog named lucy.I am from the dysfunctional AC on the hottest day of the yearI am from growing poison ivy on the fenceI am from the 1999 beige toyota corolla with a broken windshieldI am from the small one story house. Memories of what use to be, made the house seemed bigger as an infant. The prestigious things that is now will never compare to what was. life was a lot more simplistic then, the absence of it  is truly a loss, and now the only thing that remains are the precious memories of it. The flaws of the small one story house were never really flaws, they were what gave it character, they were what made it a home. The home wasn't in the best condition and yet there was a sense of completeness. That is something I will always miss. I am from a small one story house.