Dryxanne’s Confessions

I once lived in that place.

The place where the foundation was perhaps not as strong as others, but the roof was enough to cover. We had walls of joy and laughters, as well as windows of tears and heartaches. There were paintings of moments of togetherness, and there was lamp of quietness, shining the ray of peace.

Sometimes I would find you sitting there in that chair of patience, but other times you’d be pouting in that corner of anger. Sometimes I’d walk to you, grip your hands and tell you that I was sorry. Sometimes you’d approach me while I was the one sitting in that corner, tell me you were sorry. And then we could have our peace back.

That place seems a bit dusty now. It’s been quite some time since we last spent times there. That corner of anger grows darker, and I could see spiderwebs of rage are getting more and more. That chair of patience is getting older and older, it seems not strong enough anymore to hold the weight of us both. 

The door seems tempting now. To walk out and leave that place forever.

Do you remember we never made locks to the door? There were no keys. That doesn’t mean that place was open to just anything, or anyone. Because it was our place, and ours alone. But still, there were no keys. That also meant, leaving was a matter of decision, and desire only.

I am standing outside the door now, waiting. I could see you approaching that corner of anger. Are you trying to clean the spiderwebs of rage, or are you going to walk out of the door and pass me by? Are you going to invite me in, so we could once more sit on that floor of trust, staring at those paintings of moments of togetherness, and light that lamp of quietness, shining ray of peace?

I am standing outside the door now, waiting…

Because if you want to burn that place down, then I might as well leave my heart of broken glasses to melt down with that fire.