It’s not about the colour of the walls or the size of the rooms.
It’s not about the name of the kitchen designer or the quality of the sofa fabric and whether it matches the floor to ceiling curtains. Nor is it about the size of the terrace or individual bathrooms or how many of them are attached to whatever number of bedrooms it’s now considered normal to boast about.
It’s not about which crystal adorns the light fixtures or if they should be modern, vintage or retro.
It’s never about the number of people the huge dining table can seat comfortably, or how many of the ‘must-have’ gadgets the children own to mix among their expensive toys which they’ve outgrown but which already fill the rooms and attic.
No, my dream is always about a single weatherproofed roof over my head, and a door that closes to the wind and opens to a space that contains a bed with sheets, a pillow and warm blankets. About using a toilet – an actual fixture that flushes and drains. About standing at a sink with a tap and running water, maybe owning a kettle and a cup and having enough money for milk and tea and sugar as a treat.
These simple luxuries fill my waking and sleeping thoughts as I lie huddled here in my cardboard corner watching you all rush by to your dream homes which probably don’t bear any resemblance to mine.
I don’t envy or begrudge you your homes. All I ask is that the next time you don’t see me, at least see my dream.
About the author:
Alva Holland is an Irish writer from Dublin. First published by Ireland’s Own’ Winning Writers Annual 2015, three times a winner of Ad Hoc Fiction’s weekly flash competition, her stories feature in Firefly Magazine, Microcosms Fiction, Cracked Flash, Café Aphra and Zero Flash. The People’s Friend has accepted a short story for publication this year. Twitter: @Alva1206