We were so foolish to make homes out of each other. Erecting faulty supports, cultivating ephemeral gardens, arranging the furniture of our lives to compliment one another. It was such blissful ignorance. Hell, I thought we’d created our own quirky eden. But then, you decided to ignite the flame that sent me spiraling into chaos. Piece by piece my home became nothing more than kindling for the embers of your indecision. For weeks I’d writhe in the cinders trying desperately to retrieve that sense of security that I once clung to so viscously. And now I hear you beckoning me back to the walls of this place; the place I’ve been trying so hard to forget. The walls are torn, windows shattered, the supports rotting; one look and I know that what we once had is far beyond salvation. My eden is gone and all that remains is a cold, dying monolith; a monument to the phantoms of our past. Now I see that it’s my turn, it’s my time to set our world ablaze. No longer will ghost roam these halls, no longer will the shadows dance across these withered floor boards. As much as some foolish part of me wants to mingle with these apparitions for eternity, I know deep within my cracked heart that I’m better off without any traces of us haunting the corners of my mind. Yet, as I watch our home go up in flames for the final time, I can’t help but yearn for the sting of its burn to grace my skin once more.