I have a unique old house in the centre of the town.
Most of it has already been taken down,
where I was born and raised as a child
 but the house now looks sad and tired.

This is my castle, and it has too much to say,
deep in my heart it will forever stay.
It feels like a big box holding memories too tight,
keeping its secrets for years and years—day and night.

Only the walls are holding the tired roof,
every single corner is giving me proof.
The past becomes so real, I can hardly breathe,
with every step I move back in time beneath.

My lovely house is talking to me,
and with each story I listen and agree.
But its voice carries too much pain,
because it is losing its shape and frame.

“I am here with you right now, don’t worry my dear friend,
my sons are taking care of you, though the work is hard and long to mend.
You will get your beautiful face back again,
stronger and proud, but your heart will remain.

You will be an amazing house in the heart of Plovdiv town,
dressed in an ancient, beautiful and stylish gown.
And I will be with you for the rest of my life,
together in memories where time can drive.”

The heart of the house is made from stone,
its bones are wood, its silence known.
But I can feel its aches go through,
and I believe what I feel is true.

A sigh was heard—the pain is going away,
this house is part of my life and will forever stay.
I will return soon, and we will share,
digging in memories, learning to care.