It holds everything, but not everything.
The secret conversation in the dark, the heart ache of two lovers drifting apart.
This place was special, yet I barely can remember what it looks like.
I just remember the things that happen there.
The way it made us feel as stood on its grounds.
It was not a home; it was just a room.
The room where the family would meet, the room where they would part.
It could not hold heat or air, yet it was full of it year-round.
It was not always there; it was something added on as the family started to grow.
It was the bed for some of us, it was the dance rehearsals for most.
The place that gave us hope, but also showed us everything is temporary.
It gave us grief, over the dead.
It saw us cry as we try to heal the broken parts of our body not could not quite heal.
It brought us to together as it was slowing tearing us apart.
This was not just a room; this was our room.
This was the den.