Somewhere there is a little house,
with a red door that says
"welcome!"
and poems on the fridge.
A place of love
where none hates you,
where I can be the little spoon
and the big spoon
and everything in between.
Where there are no secrets,
apart from birthday secrets
(those are good).
With three rooms,
one for me, one for my daughter
and a third one to read books.
A little house full of light,
fixer upper of broken hearts,
with neighbours that say hi.
A downstairs that smells
like arroz con leche,
lemon and cinnamon.
Somewhere with a little garden
for floppy eared puppies,
and laughter,
and music,
and sun.
A home.
For me.
And my love.
Somewhere...
