Karlie Writes a Poem?

When You Fall Out of Love

you spend so much time building something from a few twigs. you sort them by significance to the narrative running in your mind. place them in a strategic assortment and build build build.

someone comes along and they’ve got twigs too. a collection of their own little significant moments. they offer you some and you can’t get your hands around them quickly enough. wood of conjoined memories begin to appear. they are strewn across a path you willingly choose.

one hand intertwines with the gift-giver’s other.

travel is easy and hunting as a unit is new, exciting. every piece to the puzzle of a shared foundation fits so easily into the journey. you see the roots of yourself, of them. separate roots begin to mingle. yours and theirs.

three whole years.

a fortress of sentimental secrets, whispered wishes, impenetrable loyalty, stands. a forest sprang from the earth surrounding the joint-venture. the sun was warm on your cheeks. this was it.

your home was beautiful with so much room for expansion. warmth radiated through you; a warmth stemming from your carpenter.

something calls from the dense canopy of arbored unknown. curiosity makes your feet take a step. a chill goes from the top of you to the bottom. hand still holding fast to the other half of you.

other half followed. tried to follow.

“I’ll be back.”

“I love you”

you loved them, too.

one day the walls in your sanctuary begin to choke you. you spend more time outside them. other half watches you go. can they sense what is to come?

more steps out, less time in. you stumble upon a beautiful garden brimming with ripe fruit. the sights make your tongue water. you long for a taste.

at first you resist. the thought does not even cross your mind to indulge in it without them. to keep such indulgences a secret.

not in the beginning.

you stop going home.

the garden is still a fantasy. you still join them more often than not. the bond of building paradise together still manages. that bond still calls you home.

so much exists outside of those walls. those walls you helped build. they have no clue what lives out here. this alternative version of you. going home makes you bitter.

going home makes you sad.

that’s the day you took the fruit from the tree. when you entered that garden, when you bit into the juicy flesh.

poisoned. everything was poisoned then.

you went back as you always did.

you stared, dead, out the window.

you let them love the shell of you.

and then you set the home you built on fire.