everything that’s mine is a landmine

did i close my fist around something delicate? did i shatter you?

the signs are always small at first, a crack in the wall or a dampness in the ceiling. you see them but don't realize what they mean. a crack in the wall that wasn't there before, did it appear after that small fight? maybe it was always there and you didn't notice it before. you put it out of your mind and focus on the good things. you don't notice it again until it's not just a crack, it is something big gnawing at every part of you. it is hard to miss now, can you still ignore it? you can try to, but how long until it's all you can see in this house? the cracks in the walls, the dampness in the ceiling, the slight unevening of doors or the crumbling of concrete — how many things can you ignore before it becomes apparent? you are living in a house that'll crumble into pieces right in front of you before you can notice the slow disintegration.

it's not your fault, some houses aren't meant to be lived in. they crumble under pressure when they feel tension arise. it's not your fault, there's nothing you can do but let it happen. all the fixes are temporary, you can't bring it back to life like it was before. something will always be missing, it will be just a house. it's not your fault, only if you had noticed it before then something might have been different but that doesn't mean everything would've been different. cracks are always hard to fill, they arise due to faulty foundations. it's not your fault, you can't hold it together now. can you let it go?

you can't hold it together, your memories fall right on the floor after another fight shattering into little pieces of glass. there's blood on the floor after you try to pick it up, hurrying because you can't let the memories escape you — not yet anyway. it is too soon for this, you mumble to yourself. the shards cutting right into the lines of your hand, the lines that said it won't end ever. the lines that are now red, thick with blood and tears. houses don't crumble when they want to, you don't notice the slow decaying happening underneath. the death of a home turns it into a haunted house — cursed with the memories of a better time.

you found yourself sitting on the floor waiting for the ground to stop shaking so you could put together your memories. it won't be the same as before, there are hints of slow death encrypted around your memories now. it is warped, you pick it up to feel it in your hands but you can only find numbness. the warmth of hands replaced by the numbness of the dark, the slow inviting smile not being there anymore or maybe it never was there? you say it's a slow death because you can feel it engulfing your mind. it lives in your head like a parasite, draining you, living on small feelings of forlornness. it makes you rethink your decisions and makes you pull back. it makes you put up a wall that wasn't there before secluding you in a corner, they can't help you if you never ask for help. they can't hold you if you never let them in.

it is already too late before you realize you put the curse on this house — you did it yourself. when you're sitting on the floor with blood in your hands feeling nothing but weight in your heart, you call for them and they're not here anymore. they can't reach for you through the maze of your mind, they can't push back the wall without you helping them. they can't do anything until you let them in, they're as helpless as you are trying to reach for you. it takes a lot to understand that it is not them but you, that you're making the house crumble with your doubts. you can't do anything but watch the weight in your heart engulf your life and kill you from inside before the death of a house can.

it's funny isn't it, you think to yourself. all it takes to save everything is what you can't give, you can't help but hold it back. not knowingly, never knowingly — the suffocation is sometimes better than letting someone see you bare. there's a fear that comes with letting people in, that they'll always leave. the fear isn't rational because those who want to stay will never leave but the fear isn't irrational either, because people can't help but leave, it's in their blood. they'll abandon you at the very mention of abandonment. you can't change their nature but you can learn to trust people more freely. you can always give in — extend your hand past the bricks of the wall, feel the warmth of their hand engulfing you slowly at first. hold onto them until it's the only thing you know, and feel their warmth spread into your chest replacing the dread. it's okay, they're here.