"Your home is not your home anymore."
I met him already; your pet he seems just as adorable as you described him to me. No wonder he takes your stress away.
I slowly took a step and stopped at the stairs, just as you told me you did every time you went home.
I am also currently at the spot where we used to talk over the phone all day and night about the things we wanted to achieve in life.
I have already met your parents; they seem even nicer and kinder than you made them out to be.
And now, I am lying in bed, forcing my eyes closed while waiting for a last chance to keep you and not lose you.
The silence fills the room while I stare at the door, hoping every time it opens that it might be you.
I was waiting for you to come home, calming the storm in me, setting aside the pain with hope and all my might.
I wanted to talk to you to tell you how much I wanted things to work out but then I realized: I was the only one.
I was the only one fighting for us. It is too late to create memories; When they have already become memoirs.
As I look into your eyes, you’re not even there. In that moment, I let go, realizing one thing: "Your home is not your home anymore."
-Briegette R.