Monkey Lyly sat quietly on a wooden step, her eyes tracing the outline of the old house as if trying to capture every detail one last time. The faded blue walls, the creaky bamboo floor, and the smell of ripe bananas from the backyard tree—all held a lifetime of memories. This house wasn’t just a shelter; it was a part of her soul. Every corner echoed with laughter, every window had seen her joy, tears, and dreams.
She remembered the rainy days when she and her mother would huddle under a blanket, sipping warm soup. The evenings when the golden sunlight poured through the cracks and lit up the little room like a fairytale. And those mornings—ah, those carefree mornings—when Lyly would dash outside to chase butterflies, her tiny hands full of wildflowers, her giggles blending with the chirping birds.
But time had moved on. The old house, weathered and worn, could no longer keep up. Cracks in the walls and a leaky roof meant it was time for change. Her mother had gently explained that they needed to move to a safer, newer place. Lyly had nodded, but her heart clung tightly to the only home she had ever known.
As they packed their belongings, Lyly found a small wooden toy—a handmade swing from her father. She held it close, tears welling up in her eyes. So many stories lived within these walls, but now they were becoming memories.
Now, in their new home, everything feels fresh and unfamiliar. The floor doesn’t creak, the walls are too clean, and the silence feels strange. But Lyly knows that memories don’t vanish. They live on in her heart, in her dreams, and in the stories she’ll tell.
The old house may no longer be home, but its spirit will always walk with Monkey Lyly—whispering the warmth of yesterday into the promise of tomorrow.
