This is the personal blog of alisonraymond

She sells real estate.
You are;
The “Older style of property in an up and coming district, in need of some attention, but with bags of charm”.
Your image is pinned in her shop window, flatteringly back lit on a crisp winter morning.

She’s the viewer.
“Remember?”
“Last Saturday, 3.20pm, bottle green BMW?”

You are;
“That funny little place on the wrong side of the road, with the pokey little rooms which could be knocked through into one and that awful shaker style kitchen with contrasting worktops, so passé!”

A surveyor came.
On a dark and rainy February evening she explored your loft casting torchlight into every dark place. She raised your floorboards and tested your render, and she declared you “worth the asking price”.

I am the vendor.
You it is who shared my life. In your shelter dwelt the family that is me.
The lovers, the parents, the children. The difficult relative who only came “for a day or so” but who stayed for months.

I was your wear and tear.
You gave me shelter. I lit and heated the rooms.
The fragrances of the kitchen welcomed all and the little rooms gave cosy respite from the storms.

We live in around and for each other.
You are my body, I am your spirit
The mortgage is paid and you are off the market.