I sit in the middle of the empty living room.
The four walls surrounded me, each having tiny holes placed in them.
Places our pictures used to hang, reminding us of our memories and telling the story of our love that is no longer there.
I can't bring myself to stand up and walk further into the house or even pack it all up.
So I left out the front door, hired movers, and told them to sell everything.
For everything in the house reminded me of you and our used-to-be
The sofa in the living room, the one we used to binge movies on, holding each other close, and when the night was late and we didn't wish to move, we'd fall asleep just how we started the night.
The bed in our room, a place we used to share, bed sheets still a tangled-up mess from the last night we spent together, a room I cannot bear to step foot into.
The kitchen where you used to spin me around in the late hours of the night when we were restless and decided cookies sounded better at three am than any other time.
The house stays there, echoing the sounds of laughter, mocking me of what it was, staying there, haunting me, slowly and painfully killing me. It stays there, and yet... I don't wish to ever come back.
The movers pack it up and sell it all. I take what's left of me and move on with nothing but the painful ache of missing my better half, skin burned by the amount of tears I've wept and the knowledge... You'll never come back.
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