What had started out as your safe haven now just bore too many signs of an intruder who had made themselves at home.
The signs should have been more obvious. From the moment you began spending less time here when she was around, to when you no longer felt like it was your space, and your space alone.
You had let it happen, and there’s really no one else to blame.
You let her here, allowed her into your space, permitted her to make it her space as well.
There were plants, odd bits and bobs that weren’t yours. Clothes that weren’t yours, a guest room that became more of a permanent residence, when the occupant deigned to give you space once in a while.
Mugs, snacks, a few sets of floral or space themed accessories strewn here and there. A label taped to the microwave, banning one Jade Harley from using it for another one of her experiments.
Sometimes walking in the halls of this house felt more like you were walking into her house than yours.
The deed is in your name. The house bought for when you wanted to have space to breathe. To be relax. To be alone.
But you let her come here, let her share your space.
Until it became more her space than yours.
Maybe it was because you felt bad whenever you left to be here, and she didn’t know where you went. She always worried about you whenever you dropped off the radar, whenever you decided to come here for some peace. To let your guard down.
Gradually, she came to call this place her home. She stayed here like how she stayed in your apartment in Texas, moving with you wherever you went. Leaving stains and imprints on your life that you couldn’t just easily scrub away.
You needed to sell this house.
It’s the only way to start fresh and forget you ever tried to play the fool again.
romaincrisis
snowghoul
2087
