Hot Line

The tired, old house looked out at the buzzing city and quietly wept. No more did laughing children run through its grand archways or slide down its staircase. No more were lavish garden parties held among the rose bushes or under the sparkling chandeliers. Its paint was chipped and faded, the garden overrun with weeds, and its once proud staircase covered with a layer of dust. Everywhere the sound of evolution hummed throughout the very center of the earth, but the house remained. The world around it slid past growing brighter as the house grew dark, and alone. Then, a group of young men and women carrying hammers, paintbrushes, nails, and determination strode right into the aging house. They brushed away the cobwebs, carpeted the floors, and tore down the damaged walls. Weeks of the hard work continued, the workers only stopping to eat and sleep. The house felt courage sweep through its veins thanks to the sweat on their backs and the love in their hearts. It stood up straight and jumped into the buzzing of the city. The house loved its self again and it shone brighter than the newest apartment complex in New York City.

Always, always remember, to love yourself.