My house wasn’t a house.
It was our home.

When we were here,
Silence turned into symphonies,
And empty rooms were filled with warmth.

We made this house a home.

This home is desolate now,
But I can vividly see memories of what used to be.

At the door, your beautiful face greeted me.

In the kitchen, I watched you cook.
We would sneak in a couple of kisses on the counter.
And then you’d go back to cooking; I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.

Eating breakfast with you at the table felt surreal.
I had shared meals with you before, but this was different.

After breakfast I carried you up the stairs to our room.
We made love on the bed, the floors, the bathroom counter, and the shower.
Our love was boundless.

There isn’t a place within this house that I can’t see you.
These memories greet me every day with a frigid certainty:
This was our home,
Now, it’s just my house.

*- j.m.