somehow i convinced myself
that my home was, well, you.

your hands, gripping my arms and
leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises,
were my doorways. your voice,
hushed in secrets and edged with anger,
was my living room. your laugh,
neither quite sincere nor mocking,
was my roof. your eyes, meeting
my gaze at the wrong times, were
my windows. and the spell you
cast upon me, forever binding,
was my bedroom.

remember the time we were
at my friend's apartment and i slapped
you because i just
couldn't
take anymore?
and for an instance,
just a fraction of a second, you raised
your fist and i braced for impact.

remember the day we drove to flagstaff
and passed the time hiking through darkness,
naming bears, and gazing at the stars?
i felt so small that day.

remember the purple baseball tee i
have? i remember seeing a picture of
your ex wearing the same shirt and every
time i wore it i couldn't help but wonder
if when you looked at me, you saw her.

remember the nights we played
video games until we were delusional
from sleep-deprivation? we ate tubs of
ben and jerry's. i ran to the bathroom
and threw it all up afterwards, but you
never noticed.

remember the last time i saw you? you
held our stuffed snow leopard to the coach
bus window, slowly waving his paw in my
direction. i gripped our stuffed monkey,
the other half our stuffed, fake children collection.
and my eyes were filled with tears, not because
you were leaving, but because i knew this was
the end.

and as the bus drove away, my home burned down.
the fire licked at the doorways, bursting into
my living room, reaching my roof. smoke billowed
out my windows and i, once trapped in my bedroom,
escaped.