I was your home, and then you vacated the premises. After loading moving trucks, you took everything inside of me.

Thousands of new unknown footprints have been imprinted inside of me as you let three men slowly carry everything out from inside of my walls. Dirt-that has been tracked in from the yard -has been rubbed into the wound of my heart.

The illusion of an empty house is supposed to instill the sense of everlasting space, but all I feel is the closing in of walls. I'm overwhelmed by claustrophobia as I become trapped in our replaying experiences in my mind showing no physical evidence of ever being here. The walls cave in for an emotionally overbearing hug and the faucet begins leaking tears.

I've been stripped, vulnerable, naked, exposed. You unhung the framed photographs, carelessly ripping out the nails, causing more collateral damage. Similar to a blunt force trauma, after you remove the object I've begun bleeding out of the hole.

You pressed plaster into the indentions of where you accidentally chipped the wall-for example when you picked me up and our car key collided into beige. You painted over the stray marks left by hands running continuously over the same halls. The evidence can be covered with home remedies but under these layers of skin,cut can still be chipped away, bleeding over a healing memory underneath.

-If there's nothing inside worth purloining but my love for you, why did you bother to lock the doors on the way out?