It’s not them that tears you apart,
It’s the hurt.
There’s rawness in the face of pain,
The type of raw that comes only in waves of pure agony,
Blissfully beautiful after a time of healing.
The type of pain that boils the blood like hot lava,
When it travels through your veins at the sound of another’s name roll off of their tongue,
A picture that didn’t involve you,
A song you can only hear the words,
“I don’t want this anymore,”
Echo through your broken mind.
Our favorite place was no longer filled with the scent of happiness,
But the scent of you.
You linger in the walls that watched our love develop,
The windows that saw the fights that happened,
The doors that slammed shut to separate ourselves from one another to breathe.
Even the air betrays me when I walk through the street,
Always smelling the sweet scent of home.
You are home to me.