This house isn't mine anymore, but the memories are; the memories can't be sold.  The building that housed my once-upon-a-time dreams stands for someone else now, as it did for the people before us, and I feel happy to let it go.  Happy that I can begin again, anew, though bearing the scars of before.  They represent wounds that have healed.

Day-to-day things, the mundane, are what keeps the motor running.  How extraordinary the ordinary really is, a tool we all use to keep going, a template for sanity.