No Longer Ours

The welcome mat, cracked and curling,

caught the dust of a morning

I don’t live in anymore.

Leaves half-buried the realtor’s sign,

littered like regrets at the doorstep.

The windows stare, dark eyes averted,

a house empty of the sounds

that once scraped against its walls.

I trace the faded numbers

on the peeling doorframe,

fingers tasting a cold goodbye.

It’s not a shelter now—

just space filled with absence,

a place for strangers

to write their own undone stories.