I have found myself a home

- 002

— exhaustion.

I had a dream that we lived together in a small house. I don't know what kind of environment it was but I was with you. We lived in the silence of an afternoon, and I folded laundry for you, it was everything we ever wanted when we started and now you want something else. I always wanted to apologize, for all the things I couldn't give you, for making you feel unwanted and lonely and alone and not enough. I made a home out of you. Your face, your hands, your voice, those kind of things became familiar and with time, I built fortresses and a safe place out of you and you're gone now.

And I curse you for being cold, and for leaving. And I blame myself for making you cold, for making you leave. But you refuse to hug me, or kiss me, or love me. I shouldn't have held onto you like you were God, because you're just human, always bound to leave and be somewhere— but not here. But you promised that you'll be here and I'll have you, always. We promised to take care of each other and you promised me a lot. And none of it came into fruition. It's only promises. Something made to be broken.

And I miss you often even when I try not to think about it. I still recall your memories and I love you in each one of them. I wish you just talked to me for the last time, I would have bargained and beg you to come back and love me again. I wish to talk to you one more time. But, it seems like you don't want a closure anymore, it's probably better to leave things this way so you can move on.