I apologize for the foreclosure of the home that you never wanted.

I don't think about you anymore,

and I like to think that I think about you less.

But sometimes my mind trudges to the cold of where you are,

and while my environment isn't the most alluring,

you win in any pity weather contest any day. 

I still have high hopes for you,

that you stay warm even when your bones begin to stiffen.

I still hope that you grow.

But I realized recently that in order for me to grow,

I needed to care about you less.

Unfortunately for you,

I was successful.

I'm not even sure if I could go back to the way I felt about you.

I'm in a slur of judgement between thoughts of neutrality and apathy.

My goal was of course, was complete and total apathy,

but that picture doesn't look as well put-together as neutrality.

Although, to be fair,

I didn't always look like a put-together picture either. 

In fact that time you last really saw me,

I looked a mix betwixt used bandages that proved to be pointless

and wounds that only got worse because of the salt that I poured into them out of spite.

After the majority of those were healed,

I took a meticulous look into myself and saw what only I needed to see.

I caught a taste of my limits with only the tip of my tongue,

but I didn't need much else. 

I observed that I had no more room for you in my heart anymore.

The space you once occupied was healing a bit wrong,

and I accidently scratched at the scab and created a wound deeper than 

how I once tried to look into your eyes. 

But this one seems to be healing just about right. 

The scar tissue just happened to form over the love I had for you.

I'd love to apologize,

but we both know that this isn't a loss for you.

At least, 

right now it isn't.

At the moment,

you're made happy by someone other than I and I hope that continues.

And at this exact moment,

my heart and my arms no longer serve as a home for you.

My body is my home and I will no longer look for such a home in yours. 

Not even in your mind will I be drawn back into my affections.

The rampant, raging passion I once held open for you like a towel 

has finally turned repugnent. 

For once, I have taken your relevance from my mind. 

Right now, 

I am not the place for you to take solace.

I will not look for the comfort in your words.

I will not allow your words to comfort me.

Once I stopped fighting the pain and let it in,

it slowly slid out through the crack in my door,

the one I trusted to keep it at bay in the first place. 

I'm happy that I trusted it,

for I am glad that my trust was broken.

Looking at my new home,

the rooms don't look too damaged by the wreck the door crack left.

As I repair them,

I'm glad to know that you will look right past me 

and not take note of the wreck that rumaged through it at all.

The wreck was not your doing,

for this I hold no blame.

But please,

do not see this as an invitation into my deepest compassions,

because I'm saving those up for the special occassions that I will never have with you.

I have all that I need to fix the windows and seal the cracks in the drywall.

I apologize,

but your handy hands are no longer necessary to fix me.

I need fixing,

of this I am well aware.

But there's a slight ease in the knowledge that part of it is finally fixed. 

It's nice to know that in time, 

you will not longer take any more space in my life,

and soon, 

you will obliviate from my writing.

And by some form of osmosis,

from my mind. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.