Fifty-Six
We lived in a dollhouse forgotten by the dolls.
I was a garden gnome with half a face cracked wide. You were a marionette with two missing limbs and one crooked neck. We fitted each other's company fairly well.
A broken figurine and an amputated puppet.
I used to enjoy the chill of early winter only to miserably sweat in late summer. You however, danced and glided on a platform beaten down by audacious sun-rays.
You loved the sun. I hated it.
There in that dollhouse, the weather was fair, not too cold - not too warm. We loved it very much. But no good thing lasts long, and later that year, a tempest shredded our lovely home into a thousand splinters.
We were miserable after that, and decided to set out on opposite ways. You to the sunlit markets and I to the frosty gardens.
But as the days and the distance between us grew, the memory of the perfect dollhouse turned to mist, and all we could think about, in the comfort of our separate lives, was how we missed each other's company.
And now, after a full cycle of seasons have passed, we realized that the dollhouse was never our home. It was with each other.
Home was where the other was.
