I took your sorrow and claimed it for myself.
Your laughter, music to my ears.
I took your home and made it my own. Our own.
When I love, I love completely.
Is there any other way?
Giving so much away without a thought or worldly discretion.
And when the receiving comes, however small, there is a celebration. Smiles and a singing heart.
This is why, when the fall comes,
The broken pieces are scattered too wide to collect.
It is soundless. The shattering of a heart so innocently handed over.
This pain is my own. So are the teary eyes still staring in disbelief at my pieces scattered on the cold floor. The ones he walked all over.
There is a home no longer. Only a house.
