Building a love from the ground up:
I first fell in love with the land. The way you were at first sight (your awkward presence, the sensitivity that made you so different).
Constructing the floor plan was like building paths for myself in your thoughts. Imagining the interior and exterior of our connectivity (finding out your fears, where you want to be in 20 years).
We soon began the construction that would form our foundation. We were finally coming together; our love was being built from the ground up (we became close in a new way; how strange it is to think we felt so at home together).
Then came decorating and nurturing our beautiful new home. Our memories took over every corner of our minds (laying in bed remembering, laughing at the awkwardness that once existed).
We were comfortable in this home we built. Our lives were interdependent on the other (I needed you when you came home, and you needed me so you would never be alone).
Watching a home fall apart with time:
Annual repairs were necessary. Fighting was no different than changing the bed sheets (what do you mean you’re leaving? I’m sorry I am this way).
Slowly our tastes changed. Redecorating a room was nothing like the beauty that we once made (Who gave you these morals? What have you done with yourself?)
Cracks in the foundation started to form. I didn’t know if they were worth fixing (the memories became so painful, they reminded us of a better time).
The walls started to sag under the rain. I couldn’t stop crying when I looked at you (who are you? What have you done with the person I loved?)
The windows broke and winter was here. Every time you spoke I felt cool air (why are you so inhumane? You used to be so good).
I left our home we built. I couldn’t save it from destruction (you were comfortable with who you were becoming, and I couldn’t stay to watch).