I'm a house. I wasn't made of wood or bricks and cement. I was made of meat, bones and nerves. Yes, I used to be a human being, but not anymore. I'm a house.

I used to whisper my secrets to the walls and floors of the house. I used to take care of everything in it. But I also used to keep quiet when there was someone around. I was like any of the furniture in the house. I wasn't a human wandering around, I was a sculpture in the hallway.

Every time that I opened my mouth, someone would say, "The curtains are too noisy". Even if I yelled at them, they would say, "I don't like this room the most".

I'm a house. A house with many rooms, in which every part of me is trapped in. A house with windows that try to scream. A house with many nasty-smelling bathrooms that don't want anyone in their surroundings. Floors that make you fall if you're not careful, a Ceiling that can hit your head and hallways, in which you can get lost if you're alone. I'm a not house. I'm a home.