Sometimes I think that I can hear it breathe, as morning sun streams through its leaded panes. I love the smell of polished wood and candle wax, the to and fro of pendulum, the chiming sounds that tell of time that's passed. I snuggle down in chintz to read a book or write a poem; perhaps I place cut flowers in a vase, make phone calls to a friend; It's always done with joy for when I'm here within its walls, I'm in a special place, my room where I spend many happy hours a place where I have found myself at last.
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