We walk

Through the woods of my backyard

My fingers skim across

The rough bark of a tree.

 

I’ve lost sight of you,

But I’m not going looking.

I continue walking

And I find our old treehouse.

 

I’m not sure if it could hold both of us now.

I sway at the bottom

Looking left and right

I call for you.

 

When you don’t answer,

I climb up

The excitement on my face fell

It wasn’t like it was.

 

A tornado must’ve blown throw

The floor is swollen and rotten.

Our things are torn apart.

Then, I heard a door creak open.

 

You say

“Stop pulling yourself apart

This place

Is nothing.”

 

But not to me

This place was home

And I utter a single word

“Why”

 

“I needed something”

And— Oh…

It was you

You tore me apart

 

You needed something from me

And you didn’t ask

You only took

You only destroyed

 

I looked at my (not our) treehouse,

And I realize

I was always the one

cleaning … caring…

 

You didn’t pull it apart once

Or long ago

It happened many times

And recently

 

Then, you left

And I stayed

Just like always

I’m always the one to repair.