the beige house that i love so much

Rickety porch stairs
Fraying carpet
Yellow walls
Black mailbox with a white 17 on it
A front door that doesn’t quite shut
Little closets, little rooms.

Our love. It’s in the little closets and the fraying carpet. It’s in the counters stained from one too many dropped tea bags that always fall on the way to the trash can. It’s in the stained carpet and the black mailbox with the white 17 on it.
I've grown up  here.
What happens when we leave and the memories start to fade of the beige house at the end of the cul de sac with a beautiful garden all overflowing with our love?

I don't really want to leave.