Dear Purple House,
You don't know me, but I have been enamoured with you for several years. I have admired you from afar, from my vehicle as I drive past, hoping that one day, perhaps my love will be returned. Your simple elegant beauty is shown in the way you carry yourself, with a little bit of a smirking twist as you sit at a not-entirely-straight view to the road. No, you shy away slightly, but still boldly wear your purple siding and stone, coyly and with an air of pride.
Your windows look as if they let in a lovely filtered light and give you a view to the trees and the neighbouring homes and the busy road. Do you like seeing the world go by? We are fellow voyeurs, quietly eyeing the travellers as they yawn and sing off-key in their cars; but we forgive them their trespasses, for who are we, but travellers too.
I see you and sense that you are a happy home, or perhaps better to say, content. Satisfied in what you are, a comfortable haven for the couple you house, and their friends, who no doubt, stop in on a whim, because you are so accessible. Believe it or not, I see in you my own dreams of happiness and contentment. For a structural being, you certainly evoke many emotions in me; I love who you are, and what you represent.
I think that your caretakers are lucky indeed, to have you housing them, with your rooms of lightness and sunny warmth, your carefree garden beds and your loving countenance. I would love to be embraced by your walls and celebrated , as the Queen of my own bungalow frigate, the Purple Heart.
