on christmas morning, there was a dollhouse in the dining room.
the same dollhouse that sits in my parent’s basement today.
an unfinished dollhouse.
with a bag of shingles on the roof.
filled to the brim with furniture.
some passed on to me from my mom’s childhood.
there was a family.
and a dog.
santa brought the dollhouse.
but deep down i knew my dad spent countless hours building it.
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