The staircase looked to be painted green or something meant to be blue but ended up green
The green was chipped with flakes of brown hardwood poking through the crevices
Of the emerald color. I stepped on the first staircase remembering the warm Augusts there but mostly the fall. His coat was still hanging on the pole connected to the railing I glanced at it and it glanced back at me. Staring into my soul but my weeping eyes as I remembered what it felt like to be in love. His coat smelled of cologne and dried rain. I put it over my shoulders, tears falling into place.
This staircase in our home belonged to us and only us, but then he left and now it is only me, It is only me with all my faults and ripped jeans too big to fit my withering waistline as I count the days gone by. I count the days on the calendar marking a tiny X in the corner hoping still he might walk through the door. I hope still, that he would greet me with the same expressions he once did before, always first asking me about my day. Now I enter my home with empty dreams and dark memories with no one to call out my name. The staircase was for us, it was the road map to our dreams. The staircase carried our first boxes all marked and packed with things that belonged to us. The staircase carried our long nights after staying up late, talking about things only we knew.
The Staircase who was once emerald green carried what I thought to be our future but ended up as a memory from the past in only a matter of seconds. I never knew why he left me sitting upon that staircase, my head buried in the palms of my hands atop that staircase . He left in a fit of rage with the idea of never coming back, I didn’t think that was so.  But now this staircase carry’s regret, for I shouldn’t have said what I said but the staircase knew I only wanted what was best. The staircase may also carry my future, I just haven’t discovered what that might be yet.

It smells vaguely of pizza
And there’s a little white fuzz floating around in the air,
I’m rewriting memories and helping a friend through a break up.
I’m sitting on my back staircase alone at night with no substance to keep me company,
Remembering a time sitting here with my ex having wine while he smoked a cigarette feeling relative peace and romanticism.
Now I’m contemplating the roughness of the stucco walls and the wrot iron and staircase and window cages,
The exceptionally uncomfortable and bumpy stair steps, all of the tangible visual interest around me,
Maybe falling in love with it,
It doesn’t notice me or maybe

Maybe it does, maybe it feels my weight,
Knows my smell,
Oh my god maybe these walls remember that moment that I’m thinking of!
Maybe they know all of it and they support me,
Maybe the me that was then and the he that was then is sitting here too just below me,
Letting the me that is now observe the sweet, pervasive sickness that we were lying in.

The pizza smell has wafted away and so has the little fuzz,
The wrot iron staircase feels okay against my head,
The angles that I’m looking down on feel unique to me, my frame of vision, is just for me.
He lived here, he bothered me, he smoked on this staircase nearly every night.
But maybe these steps and this material around me knew it was not his,
Maybe he never saw the stairs at this angle, maybe they never showed him their magic or their comfort or their mood or their simple, simple majesty.

Falling in love with a staircase and with the shadows that it kept secret for me.
Divine, it’s all divine.

I am a creaking staircase;
Letting others step on me and crack my wooden boards from their heavy weight and intimidating stomps.
I am only a passing marker to their final destination,
But nevertheless, they still need me.
And I try to convince myself that my worth means something,
Because without my support they wouldn’t get anywhere.

Without my support they would be stuck,
No staircase to guide them up and away.
So they wonder if it was all worth it;
Carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.
This shows me that I am necessary and I am needed,
For without me, they wouldn’t make it to their destination.

Because they are running for a reason.
And my staircase heart provides them the nurture they need to make it.
My worth is not decided by the amount of cracks I have in my structure,
Not by the weight I carry upon my steps,
Not by the need to feel useful,
But by the amount of souls I have helped reach their destination.

I have given my support to those that have used me,
And although I should feel bitter my creaking staircase continues to give.
Proving that I have worth, even if it's as much as a penny's.
Proving that the weight on my shoulders has worn me into a comfortable state, like those stubborn shoes your mother got you for church.
Proving that they need me, like a boat needs water
in order to reach its desired destination.

I am a support system,
A staircase to the places that people need to be.
I am worth it.
The weight that I carry is for a reason.
The people who stomp on my staircase heart, at one point needed me.
And although I am not their destination, I am part of their journey.

The weight that they are carrying is supported by my steps.