From The Ashes

May 24, 2026

I used to live in this house, its windows shattered, paint chipped,

aged wallpaper bearing witness to years of arguments and tears.

Doors slammed shut, wood pieces covering the panels,

Falling apart like dried petals of a wilted rose on the counter.

Within this house, memories intertwined with heartache over the years,

I stood outside, at the end of the sidewalk, facing it,

resenting every brick, every crack, every flaw,

dreaming of setting it ablaze and watching it consume in flames.

Then you appeared with a hatchet in your hand,

ruthlessly tearing apart my old hurts, dismantling them,

throwing every piece into the fire—we danced as it burned,

sparks ascending like fireflies, carrying away my pain.

From the ashes you constructed a new house: ours.

We named it our sanctuary, adorned it with new wallpaper,

built a foundation sturdy enough for me to stand tall,

no longer on the sidewalk, peering in, wishing for destruction.

Now I dwell within this house, with you by my side,

together we nurture it, watching it flourish like a sunflower,

basking in the warmth of a new beginning, a resilient home,

where scars of the past have been transformed into strength.

Footnote: Nothing says healing quite like setting the haunted emotional fixer-upper on fire and calling it self-growth.

theinkchapel