We had a house and it was called Our Love.
Built to last, or so I thought.
The outside was neat and clean.
Freshly painted daily by your words.
We looked like perfection to everyone who saw it.
We incited envy amongst other lovers.
The inside was where the real story was told.
We had each furnished it with our own beliefs.
Our own thoughts,
they sat like arm chairs and coffee tables.
Mixed but never matching.
These furnishings were what we fought over.
Who knew that a difference in decor could create such tension?
But you cared more about the appearance of Our Love to the world
than you ever cared about me.
How can we care about the outside if the inside’s falling in?
We were too busy putting up appearances to take care of our hearts.
Inside the walls were crumbling,
the arguments were endless
over the decorating,
over how we appeared.
We forget to tend the garden of our hearts.
We were overrun with weeds of ruin,
with the dust-bunnies of disaster and neglect.
Loneliness repossessed Our Love,
and we were forced to move on.
I hope you still keep a picture in your heart of Our Love
even after all these years.
Sometimes I go back and cry at its ruin.
I miss Our Love, the way it was in the beginning,
It just wasn’t meant to be.
remember Our Love.