Empty Home
Sitting on the steps doesn’t give me the same comfort as it did a few months ago. The walk to the front door seems longer than it did once before and my stomach turned away it never has before. I enter, I’m nearly winded by the smell of fresh paint and hatred. I can hear the sounds of a new house settling after all the years of discomfort. Shadows move out of the corner of my eyes, movements of memories too alarming to forget. The echo bringing back the negative thoughts that started far then began pounding in my ears. The kitchen feels vacant but not stripped. The fridge is still filled with the last trip of groceries but by now they are festering. A single apple sits on the counter top. It's crazy to see something so at ease in a war zone. The living room couch is moved exposing the hole in the floor we tried our best to cover up for so long. I stare at the blank wall in the hallway where dust had built up where our family portrait used to rest there. God I can't even remember the last time we were steady enough to have such real smiles. In the master two twins pushed together on the ground where a king used to stand so strong it reached my abdomen which at this point was twisted. I walk to the bathroom and run my finger tips shakily across the mirror. The reflection looking back is eerily unfamiliar. I would not even recognize this person if I saw them on the street. My heart drops and I exit with a feeling too strong to express with words. I finally take a deep breath of the outside air and finally I'm free.
