I Was Your Home And You Left Me Behind

A porcelain teapot between two potted plants on a windowsill
Nathan Fertig / Unsplash

You found it in me–home.

I was the place you liked to rest in. You found solace and peace in my arms. I was there when you needed me, when no one was around to lift you up. You were yourself around me–even your demons you let me see. I accepted you with open arms, because you said you found a home in me.

Like any homes, you saw some imperfections–you fixed it–you altered me into someone I never really was just to feed your own fantasy, to have that dream you had as a child.

But you should’ve known that some homes are already built with precision–delicately crafted with purpose and meant for acquisition; with nothing to change, nothing to add, not meant for fixing nor modification.

Later you realized I needed too much ‘work’, so you left me–the way you sometimes forget to close the door–ajar. Soon I crumbled–my foundation became weak; I got too sick of all your fantasies, and you just stared at me in disbelief.

I was your home, your shield, your companion–but look at you now, walking away, with suitcases in your hand.

Maybe, people leave their homes when it’s already old, or not any more suited to the lifestyle they have. Maybe people decide to find new homes because the old one is no longer the one they want.

And maybe, you left me, because I was never the person you wanted–I was never your home–because if I was, you shouldn’t have changed me, but rather embraced me for who I was.

I should’ve known though, that a house is different from a home–I was just a mere abode that attended to your needs, but not a home that you saw you can grow old with.

As you walked away, you did not even dare to look back. You never saw the incomplete transformation you gave me; you never saw how broken and shattered I was from the windows to all the rooms – from my eyes to my heart.

The ceiling was leaking, like my tears falling –

the rooms were empty, just like my heart;

the door was open, like the glint of hope that you’d come back,

but you went out the gate and walked away fast.

Who would ever want to love me now?

Who would want to live in a home that’s full of cracks?

You found it in me–home–or maybe, I thought you did. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Poetry. Art. Photography. Cats.

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