Used to be a home
Everything about this place reminds me of you
From the couch where you once sat to the bed we used to lay in
From the kitchen where I once cooked for you to the bathroom where I held back your hair
From your handprint on my bathroom mirror to the chair I always saved for you
Every part of this place is infused with memories of you and they won’t go away
Maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving this place that I first called home
The place I hoped we’d raise a child and have a family
The place I where hoped to grow gray and old with you
But you left…
And now my home, the one place I should feel happy, is shrouded in a cloud of deep sorrow
My house is no longer my home, but my prison
Where my mind is kept under constant assault with memories of our past
Where I have trouble sleeping because I got used to doing it with you next to me
Where I have trouble eating because you aren’t across the table sharing the meal with me
Where the one person I love most in the world took my heart and crushed it under their foot
This place used to be my home.
Now it’s a constant, heartbreaking reminder of what I’ve lost
Who I’ve lost…
I will always love you and I hate myself for it
Because it would be so much easier to hate you
For making my home, a prison.
Signed,
Me
Copyright © Evan Overkamp | Year Posted 2025
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