There's nothing I'd like more than to scrub the sadness from these floors boards.
To purge this house of you,
wouldn't that be something.

The doors cry at the memory of you opening them.
I think they miss your hands on their handles as much as I miss yours collecting at my waist, leading me around the kitchen in the middle of the night.
The only music we had was the sound of our hearts beating in our ears.

The windows still don't keep the cold out.
I called the company your dad told us about but they said there was nothing they could do.
Sometimes I like to pretend it's you when I'm in the shower and feel the outside pouring in. Uninvited but wanted.

The wallpaper screams your name at night. It's covered in water spots now. Too worn down for you to love it anymore.
But she still loves you. She still loves you.

I wonder what your mom thinks.
And your cousin whose hair I braided before her ballet recital.
Do they care that I am here in this house I built for you?
Do they care that you have rotted us to the core?

I have sat in this house as it's been flooding.
I have punched holes in it.
I have blamed it.
I can live like this no longer.

I will rip up these floorboards and I will no longer wait for the sound of you coming home.

I will replace these doors with ones untouched by those hands and they will greet only me.

I will buy windows that know nothing of winter and they will keep you out of my house.

I will tear back this paper and I will let all our secrets run down the walls so I no longer have to live with them alone.

I will make you know that you have hurt us.

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