"Dear...You Chose to!"

 

A moment that draws me towards you in thought is the very instant I find familiarity with myself. Dear, you were the home I entered by leaving behind all the people I once tried to mimic. I was myself with you. Now, all I have left is the house. I no longer find myself. I sleep to forget that I reside here, or I wish for a dream in which we are together for eternity, living in the house we turned into a home. But all goes in vain. No matter how hard I try to embrace the present, I still end up smelling like the past.

Your hands are imprinted on mine. The day you chose to sleep forever, I lost my sleep, Dear. Dreams now seem like nightmares. I want to search for you, but everything in this house tells me you are not hidden. What should I do? How do I live in this eternal void?

We were supposed to be alive and prove ourselves to eternity. You betrayed me, my Dear. Come back so I can ask you why. I want to trust you again. You couldn’t have just gone. Where should I look now? The doorstep is awaiting you. The frames crave your gaze. The books want to be read. I want to be held in your arms. We are all waiting. Even visit us just once more, if only to convince us that you won’t return. Our eyes are drying up. Before the last tear rolls down our cheeks, come save us from the disaster of life.

You made me believe our love was winning, that nothing could defeat us. Now, I’m losing every day—losing myself by not finding your shoulder to lean on and celebrate even the loss. This house is fed up with losers like us. I feel sorry for it—for this house that lived like a home and has now become homeless. After all, how long must we sit waiting to be home again? Perhaps when sleep finally chooses us.

~A