Paragraph on Your House

I live in a house, and I have lived there my whole life. It's a really nice home. Our town is on the second floor and close to the top of a hill. My room is on the second floor, in the far corner of the house. I have a window that looks out over my neighbor's garden. He keeps his dog in a small kennel tied to one of the trees in his backyard. The grass in the garden is tall and turning yellow in some places, but he tries to keep it under control. I also have a window in the front of my room that looks out onto the street. If I lean close enough and look slightly to the left, I can see the corner of another neighbor's house.

My dad's bedroom is at the end of the hallway on one side, and there are two other bedrooms across from each other. One of these bedrooms belongs to my older brother. He made it look like an old-fashioned study with oil paintings on the walls, a small mahogany desk by the window where he keeps his laptop, and lots of books. He even keeps a Quill pen in a holder next to the desk, although he never uses it to write letters anymore.

Then there's my room, which is the opposite of my brother's room. It doesn't have any personal touch. Everything in my room was bought from a store and matches everything else—the bedspread, comforter, sheets, and pillowcases. The curtains match the sheets and bedspread, and even the carpet matches everything. The pillows on my bed are all the same. But that doesn't mean my room is ugly because it's actually quite nice.