The boy is at the house, but his heart is at home. At home, he was safe and at peace. “Well-loved” was indeed the correct word for his time there. But now, he’s been tossed out, and no, this ain’t no timeshare. For his home does not love him anymore. It was burned by the fire from the match he ignited. His home is now gone. It is dearly departed. He used to sleep in its soul and find solace in its bosom. Now, oh now, the home has grown legs and ran from his spite. See, he would fuss and fight, not believing his home would provide adequate housing for him. Though his home had also been the house of many others. He grew sick and weary, for he could not share, not even with his brother. Oh, the house was a home for sure. It held beds and pans, sinks and tubs, rooms and blankets, toilets and heat, fans and tables, chairs, and towels galore. All that was needed from him was to bring the food for the fridge and the bulbs for the lights. But it seems he liked to starve and live in the night. What a fairytale awaited, you see what this home could be. He did at first, but then his vision must’ve gotten lost at sea. He broke all the glass and never shut the cupboards. For he thought that his plates had been used by another. How silly of him to put trust in a home. It only warmed him and kept him safe from being alone. See, the house was there before him and after, made with the formation of earth. For it was he who stepped in and brought with him a curse. The ground even shook when he first touched the door. When he’d leave and come back, it surely was sore. Remember, he’d never had a home as glorious as this one before. So he held onto it tight. No company, no parties, and no one but him could enter. He held it so tight, the comfort set in. And when it did, he began to forget the home was not his, nor was it rented. He forgot he just walked through the doors one day and made it his own. The home was nice to let him stay. Heck, it even stopped creaking so as not to annoy his slumber. He didn’t care; he went and used all its wood for the lumber. He now thinks back to that home that he had. The feelings it brought up were too soon and too sad. I say he should’ve remembered the home was a house. Then maybe he wouldn’t be sleeping in a tent, with no heat, no stove, no sugar, no pictures, no bowls, no chairs, no windows, no outlets, no tub, and a mouse.