By Caroline Yelverton, TIWP Student

The front porch whispers warnings as the door creeks and I am greeted with this house, the first place where you were ever mine.

A clandestine gallery meant only for our eyes, memories etched in the walls, a silent narrative.

The marble countertop is stained from the place where you spilled your wine almost a year ago, your hand wrapped tightly around my waist as laughter bounced off the walls.

The couch retains the indents of where we once sat, my head on your chest.

The fresh polish on the floors has long since erased the footsteps of where we danced, an elusive dream, now faded away.

Happiness fades into longing, as it tends to do.

I glance at you from across the room, my eyes begging for a second chance.

The tiny corner of the bathroom still has tear stains from the moment my walls finally fell.

The air is filled with my desperate shouts and your definitive no’s.

In my mind, I can still see your smile of last spring. 

But it’s May and I hate you and I am finally me again.