Why do I decorate my walls with memories of you? Why do I create this facade that you are a part of my home? A home which should only belong to me.
And when people come to visit, they will not say that my home is a reflection of who I am. That it is a safe place for me and those I welcome. Instead, they will say it is a shrine to you. A reminder of you. A memoir of the time you spent in this life. In mine.
So I tear them down, and throw out the furniture which reminds me, oh so much, about you.
And now my walls are bare. My house is empty. And there is space to rebuild.
Where pictures of you stood framed, will stand pictures of the life I lived. The life I live. And the life I wish to live.
I am done with you. And I am beginning with me.
