Vacancy

There is nothing wrong with falling out of love.

You crack open the blinds on someone else’s heart, and you realize the entire house is vacant.

Shutters drawn in close like a pair of trembling arms clutching to life on a bitter winter morning.

The front door looms down the drive, locked so tightly that the rest of the house leans towards the frame, twisted like origami.

Its breath slowing with every step you take.

You approach and the heart wanes.

You reach out and the lawn browns beneath your toes.

This is your only source of peace and it knows.

No matter how well you tend to the garden, nothing grows.

There is nothing wrong with giving up on love.

You sit on the concrete, with your knees pulled towards your chest and wonder when the happiness moved away.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and splash memories all over callused skin.

A set of keys crumble in your dress pocket.

The house shakes in contempt.

This is not your fault.

You crack the blinds on someone else’s soul, and you realize the entire neighborhood is deserted.

It is time you go.

There is nothing wrong with finding a place to live outside of love.