From the floor, a weathered marriage of browns, to the eaves that were their echo, the rustic house had a way of becoming a home so very quickly.
The rustic house had a style to it, a deliberate sense of flair, as if it was born of romantic dreams.
It was a rustic house, the kind of bold pastel hues that speaks of joyful days passed by and yet remembered still.
"Ah, well, the farmhouse rustic floor has its advantages, dear Edith, one can really live on it without having to polish it so very much!"
I say my house is rustic, and it is a style, a vibe, a feeling of being at home with the time weathered and recycled. Almost all of the furniture had a previous life as another thing and I guess I did too. Perhaps that's part of why I love it so much. I'm rustic and weathered, my soul has the kind of scars that bring wisdom.
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