my house with a porch

Today I dreamed again of my house with a porch, in Chicago. It has to be the right porch, all around the house, with creaking woods and a lovely shade. I should be able to see Lake Michigan while sitting on a rocking chair sipping a cup of green tea. I should be able to hear the laughter mixed with the waves, smell the water, and even feel a couple of sand grains beneath my teeth. I dream of a house with a porch in Chicago, that place I miss so much and which my daughter reminds me of every day.

I have never had a house with a porch, though I know I must have, because the memory is so intense. I suppose that is true saudade. One day I will grow old and I will have a house with a porch, by the lake, in Chicago. I will sail flags from its corners, and hail neighbours from the door, my daughter will play on the steps and I will watch her go to school. I don't feel sorry because I don't have a house with a porch in Chicago. The dream keeps me company. A dream can be fancied like clouds moving in the sky with the wind. It comes and goes with the tide. My house full of dreams, surrounded by a porch, by the lake, around the corner, in Chicago. The town where my daughter was born.