𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

a storm is brewing in kansas

{

an old velvet couch the color of rusted copper, hazelnut, and navy green sits in an empty living room with torn pillows resting atop the faded cushions.
a fringed blue and white blanket with intricate woven designs is folded across the top, meant to cover the dust bunnies and moth eaten corners from the few and rare visitors that come.
outside the heavy draped window beside the couch is the sound of spiraling, freezing winds from the north, the lullaby of plundering raindrops causing a yawn to stir from the gray haired man looking upon his home with fondness.
i, too, look at this place, but with misery and contempt instead. the memories that have swollen from this house are ones we will never create.
the upstairs consists of closed off bedrooms that once harbored a daughter and a son, long gone with the coming of growing up and the passing of time.
the years have not been unkind to this quiet place, being that all that remains is a few dusty edges and a spider in the kitchen corner; he, too, is lonely.
i squeeze my eyes shut and wonder what our children's rooms would of looked like, and what our bedroom would of looked like, as well. i envision your hand in mine as you flip the pages of the jade turquoise scrapbook i put together through the years. a faded black and white one is of our wedding, and you rub your thumb over my palm to indicate your happiness. eager for your face, i open my eyes, but by then, the pressure is gone, and i am left alone, desolate for you.
what would it have been like to fall in love and grow together, the only evidence of the clock ticking the rise of the pine trees? to build a house with wooden floors and tall ceilings to dance in until dawn? to fill the crooks and corners of our home with picture frames of times well spent and memories worth remembering?
would we have cooked breakfast together in the kitchen with too many pots and pans, the sun streaming through the green vines i wrapped around the window? would our nights consist of holding one another close, listening to each other's steady breathing while the house creaked and moaned in its settling? day by day, year by year, would our love have intensified as we spent the remainder of our forevers together?
i will never know, nor, i think, would i want to.
instead, i bring myself back to the present.
i extend my legs on the old velvet couch and cover myself with the quilt, and then i desperately try to fall asleep to the whistling of the wind while my tears fall with the coming rain.
i will sleep in this house that was once a home and pray that i not dream of you and how you were mine. we grew from each other, but we will not grow together anymore. i could wish on a far off star for a future together, but it will not change the past. i will learn from our mistakes and use these lessons in my future; but god, that doesn't change how hurt i am.

}