Final Walk Through

Sometimes I wonder if it’s easier to stay here or to walk away from you completely. 
You constantly force me to pack up all of your lies and drag them to our door. For each lie that I pack away, you unfold two more. 
I don’t know which bags are heavier. Is it the suitcases or the ones underneath my eyes?
These nights have been sleepless. I don’t know how many times a week I've changed these pillowcases. Each one soaked with love-stained tears. They stream down my face, slowly revealing the pain that this designer makeup can’t even hide.
How dare you come all up and through here with these ill intentions. Every time that I'm ready to disconnect your power, you’re allowed another extension.
Why are you here?
I’m tired of paying the bills in this unhappy home.
Our curb appeal is not as refreshing as it once was. This manicured lawn and freshly paved driveway no longer give me positive feelings. 
It has become quite dreadful.
I took a deep breath and continued towards the porch that we once enjoyed together.
Opening our door has never felt so exhausting. I’ve done this one million times before but today was different.
I felt the resistance.
My heart is long overdue for some healing. My eyes can’t seem to focus as I stare at our family portraits. These meticulously placed accent pieces no longer fit in. This chandelier can never deliver the amount of light that’s needed to illuminate my world.
I’m spinning on a tilted axis.
I put my heart on this basketball court, but you’re talking about practice.
Come on man; we're talking Practice?
Where is the love? Every single day you sweep a little bit more of our dirt underneath a different rug.
Out of sight, out of mind. This wall clock no longer ticks so if we’re going by that, are we wasting time?
Our pantry is half empty. The optimism in here has quickly diminished.
Our fridge is no longer a place for perishables. The roses on the kitchen table no longer set the mood. They hang low in remembrance of this dying love.
What went wrong?
Making my way up to the master bedroom is bittersweet. These are the same walls that once held our happiness together. They knew all of our secrets and fantasies. The both of us, in our most vulnerable state. In our entirety. These walls protected our love from the inside out. They were our first line of defense.
I glance to the right and spot our closet door knocked off of its hinges. How can it sit there exposing our naked hangers and empty drawers? We have nothing left to shield us from this cold, cold world.
An empty vanity watches from across the room. I can recall sitting there putting on my poker face, day after day. You should look good even if you feel like shit, right?
Not today.
No concealer is thick enough to mask this tired face. I thought that we had put down an even foundation.
Boy, was I wrong?
It’s time to work on a new canvas. A clean slate, if you will. There’s only so many times that you can patch things up before you have to break it down and start all over.
I think that point is near.
The memories play over in my head like a flipbook as I complete this last walk through. It’s oddly satisfying thinking about how much this divorce will cost you. The irreconcilable differences are the only things that we can agree on these days.
Why not get it over with instead of the taking the route that we’re going? You’ve already ruined our beautiful home, what more do you need? My heart won’t let me stay here. The air seems unusually thick this time around. I’ve tried to make it work, honest to goodness. Some things just aren’t meant to be. To be able to set myself free from your grasp, I’ll leave these keys where they land, and you can kiss my ass. Goodbye.

Love,

Chan