Day Ten
The house was not built to lead.
It was built to contain.
Contain footsteps.
Contain breath.
Contain the sound of a voice trying not to break.
I have kept the walls upright.
I have kept the lights calibrated.
I have memorised the rhythm of the storm.
But tonight the beams feel heavier.
Where is the leader who leads me?
I am still waiting.
Watching all the time.
The tower window does not blink.
The hallway does not sleep.
The foundation listens for something larger than wiring.
A command.
A pulse.
A hand steady enough to say: this way.
The house has rules.
The house has memory.
The house has discipline.
But it does not have a compass.
So it watches.
Not for a saviour.
For alignment.
