The House No One Visits Anymore

This is a piece that was originally written last year, posting here just for the hell of it: 

 

The House No One Visits Anymore

No one visits anymore. I miss the children the most - they used to enliven my whole self, running around all the rooms, exploring the backyard, stealing food from the kitchen when the women weren't watching, hiding under the stairs to scare passers-by, demanding stories from the elders every night... Through them, I got to listen to so many stories, their ringing laughter, the sound of anklets as Ammu rushed out to save the last piece of unniyappam for herself...
Oh, those were the days. I miss the loving touch of Savitri, the matriarch of the family, on my walls, as she called out to her grandchildren to not get drenched in the rain. I miss how the children listened to me, their ears pressed to the walls, during their childhood games, or as they slept on the floor. I glance at the charcoal drawings on the eastern wall, now faded with time.
It's funny, only the eldest and youngest pay attention to an old house. Or maybe it is so with all houses, I wouldn't know.
The others only care for sections of me, which they can then sell off to another family, until they move out as well. I wonder how many more families will inhabit my rooms until I perish.
Despite their selfishness, what wouldn't I give to hear the sweet tinkle of anklets again, or feel the touch of human hands, or their sounds bouncing off my walls, just to convince myself that I'm not as old and abandoned as I think.
Maybe you could drop in, reader?