The door is closing.

The first home that felt like home. My sanctuary. Crumbling at the end.

The site of dinner parties that went until 3 am and lazy afternoons curled up on the loveseat with a book and a cup of tea.

The ancient push-button electricals.

The antique key in the side door.

The shockingly bold colors I grew to love. Goldenrod to teal to tomato red (with accents of orange). Bubblegum pink hiding beneath the apple green of my bedroom.

The Mr. Boh peeking out from a nautical porthole.

The fat Elvis, resplendent in his baby blue suit and tinny golden frame, in his place of honor....above the fridge.

Every fading color, every esoteric sticker. I'm sure they'll be gone soon. The crack of the auctioneer's gavel will signal the end of this house as I know it. Soon it will be gutted, stripped down to its bones. The drafty, creaky character I knew drywalled over in Everyday Eggshell. Refinished in the latest designed-for-profit style.