...and in a way, it looks like your heart is a bungalow, and I was peeking by its window.. saw your love living inside it, beautiful in the soft glow of light... her secured demeanor radiating outwards.. while there's a turmoil of a storm outside, with me beaten and wet...
The ground started shaking, and as I looked up, the window canopy extended and grew into a front porch. Plants begin to flower around its ledge. A soft chair pops out, then a table, and a placecard with a "friend" written on it..
I've a place in your heart now.. and it feels like I could stay for as long as I want.
I know you've given me a place by the front porch. It was meant to be enough. But I wanted more. Of course, I wanted more. The entire house, you. I want to pass the threshold, to be inside, inside you.
I should have been thankful. I should've stayed where I was - under your care. But I was greedy. I wanted past what was offered. I wanted to cross the line I pretended not to see- not gently, not patiently, but wanting all the same.
I wanted inside, knowing it was not mine to take. Knowing the wanting itself was already a trespass.
I pry at the door. It gives more easily than I expected. It was never locked. I keep pulling, convinced it should resist, until I realize the mistake- it only needed to be pushed.
I am inside now. And the knowing settles in with me. I did not have to break anything- after all this time, the house wants me to enter.
It wasn't resisting, it was waiting for me.
It's still storming and cold outside. The house is empty but warm, even with the fireplace unlit. She isn't here-no one to tend the fire- yet the warmth remains; it's eerily quiet but steady. I want to stay, to claim this as my home for the rest of my life. I know it-feel it- the house is keeping me safe, though everything is dim. I only see things when the lighting strikes and splits the dark.
I search the house for something to start a fire when my foot splashes into a pool on the floor. It's thick, viscous, and lush red. Blood.
The house is trying to keep me warm even as it bleeds. I'm knee-deep in flood when I wake up.
Your heart is in grief because of me- because you've let me in.
Sometimes it's a bungalow for one, or a garden.
A small piece of land meant for only one tree. That is where your present love stands, a garden built for the one.
Look closely, though.
Even if hers has grown tall and certain, you may have planted your first tree for me years ago
without realizing it.
If that love exists, then choose.
This garden was never meant to hold two.
Even if you think I am only a sprout, I have been here since four, more than two decades, twenty-two.
My roots have already spread through the soil, through the entirety of your whole land.
I may seem small, but what holds me runs deep - what's holding me was your love.
After all this time, what's keeping me alive is you.
Cut her tree down- so you can finally tend your love for me.
Working out ways of getting me to you, and being friends, was the bridge to get there. You've already crossed half of it by keeping me in your pocket.
The bridge was a simply-supported beam. I'm the roller that rolls around, and you're the pin support.
Don't let go, no matter how madly in love I get. There's a constant hum in our bridge, and it's a love between us. Albeit of different frequency, it is buzzing, electrifying.
No matter how fast I roll, as long as you stand your ground, never unhinging, our simply-supported bridge won't collapse.
Scribbling while daydreaming… have you ever tried that? Writing down on a piece of paper while your mind is elsewhere… It’s like tapping into your subconscious.
When I read my note, there was a name… JOHN, in all caps. I felt guilty. I was just settled.
Mind is a warehouse of thoughts. I locked John in the back room and blocked it with many boxes, out of sight. And the love I had, I poured into someone else.
Throughout the years, there are nights when I wake up with my mind calling out and whispering John… even though I’m happy… even though I’m not thinking of him. My subconscious is telling me… the old flame, John, is an ember.
I tried building an empire with him. I even lowered my standards to accommodate his repeated disrespect. I never hid anything from him; I told him everything, straightforward as always. I tried everything to keep us together until it took a toll on me. Focus on people who make my heart happy. While talking to the doctor, I imagined someone in a hard hat waving at me from the back room…
the John I had locked away had escaped.
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