A House That Was Home

| December 29th, 2016

I’m sitting here in the basement of a house I own. I pay the bills, I fix what I can, but it is no longer home.

I’m sitting here, empty. My kids are in bed. I tucked in all of the warmth this place around their little shoulders.

There’s a box with my things in it waiting by the door. An exorcism was done, it seems. Pictures of me, of us, of my dad, hoisted from their spots on the wall and placed in the lowly box.

I don’t mind being in there, but my dad is already in a box, his picture deserves better.

I’m sitting here, listening to a clock. Alone, waiting for her to return. I want to leave this house that is not home.

I am now a stranger here.

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