The halls used to echo with laughter, excited voices each day after school. Now they are silent, but sometimes I swear I hear someone laughing. Now the silent halls only hear laughter again on holidays, when you and the grandkids visit. I remember the tears after your first breakup, and the way you would be so grumpy in the mornings and the happiest person on earth in the afternoon. I remember all the tears and laughter, all the angry shouting, the way you and your brother would play. I remember all the paintings, now collecting dust, I remember every little thing and yet, I still find myself going through all the old photo albums. Sometimes I just sit on the couch, watching the sunset like we used to do. I hope you visit someday, that would be nice. But until then remember, that… that I love you.
This is meant to be an Elderly person whose children have grown up and had kids, and they are getting used to the change of having an emptier house. (I put this hear incase it wasn't clear about how the story incorporated change)
