The heart is a house we are always building and tearing down, it has so many halls and rooms and libraries of all we have in memory and experience, and in some dark parts, we hold within our hearts the ugly shade of a lonely tomb.
I take the hammer and crowbar into the room marked with an "E" and close the door silent behind me.
I pause to consider the many things that have been felt, experienced, housed and done in this one grand room. Most of my work, she has already done for me.
To the untouched wall I begin to tear, to rip, to let it all fall. The undoing of a room, the moving forward, cleaning up, taking the books out to storage, the bed marked love, sagging in the middle, stained with tears unused for so long, to the trash pile where now it truly belong.
Soon the room will be empty, clean, clear and someone else will reside here. I take the "E" from off the door, consider it a while, but no more.
The heart is a house ever changing...
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