If the soul were a house, it would be three stories, including an attic with a pull down ladder, quaint but not tiny. It would have two entrances, one to the busy thoroughfare and the other to a backyard that has a garden with flowers in bloom. And people would love to visit, but never spend the night, so there would be no guest room but plenty of space in the living room to entertain friends and acquaintances. There would be a full kitchen always ready to feed those who come to share and commune. The bedrooms would be wallpapered in pastels, every one, with bedspreads to match, and no other furniture in them. Every day a maid would completely clean the soul from the tip of the attic to the bottom of the first floor. He would never complain even though there would always be a lot of dirt to clean from day to day, and when he left the soul would be spotless. You would look at it like it was brand new, and cherish it like you hadn’t since the night before, content in its pure nature.
If the soul were a house, it would be home.