Before you, my home was gray and empty, or so I thought. I was so focused on the idea of love that I saw my nonexistent love life as a failure. I stupidly failed to notice friends and family being there for me. All I saw was this sad house.
When you marched into my life, it was like my home was brought to life. It was not empty or dark anymore, it was painted in bright colors and you were always there to turn the lights on. Before you, I couldn’t stay between four walls, but because of you, I liked being there because it was now our sanctuary.
As our relationship grew, cracks started appearing. The beautiful yellow walls were now paler and needed some fresh paint, but I couldn’t paint alone. I needed your help, I needed you, but you didn’t care.
One Monday afternoon, you decided you didn’t want our home, you wanted a new one, and it exploded and burst into flames. I stayed in the ruins for months because I couldn’t leave—every room reminded me of you. The porch reminded me of our first meeting, the bedroom reminded me of our first kiss, the kitchen reminded me of our numerous laughs, and the backyard reminded me of the Saturday night parties with our friends. I was alone again in that house, but now, your presence was everywhere. Before, it was just my loneliness and I, but now, it was me surrounded by your ghost.
Then one day, I decided that I was tired of living in ruins and I needed to start rebuilding. I started from the bottom with the foundations and I finished with some paint. I chose the color I wanted, a beautiful gray, but not a sad one—a futuristic gray because I was now looking forward.
As I look at my house now, because it’s mine and not yours anymore, I’m proud of what I accomplished. I now have new memories in every room and none include you. I’m happy finally being alone in that house, and I look forward to the day I will share it again with someone new.