The Broken House
This story started as a small walk that turned into a long hike through the wilderness. Somewhere between the dunes and the fox trails in Meijendel, I found myself thinking less about what had ended and more about the adventurous nature around me and the ground under my feet. The poem came after, once I understood the hike wasn't really about leaving someone. It was about the hard work of coming home to yourself, one uncertain step at a time…
Long years of tide against the shore,
of hands that held and asked for more,
of weathered storms and sun-drenched days,
a thousand small and beautiful ways.
I built a house within your name,
believed the floors, ignored the frame,
until one quiet moment showed,
the cracks that ran beneath our beloved home.
Not all of it was false, I know,
the warmth was real, so was the glow,
but truth was never quite the whole
and love alone can't fill that hole.
So I walked out through fox and dune,
through wild horse fields beneath the moon,
past forest depths where fear ran cold,
until the sea, wide, blue, and old,
opened before me, vast and true,
not what I lost, but something new,
the sound of my own steady breath,
a bond reformed not love, but depth,
a steadier self, hard-won, complete,
found not in you, but in retreat,
in every step that carried me
away from you and towards the sea.
And still I turn the question round,
why break such thing so hard-earned, found?
No answer comes, and none is owed;
I only know I walked the road.
And somewhere past the dunes and pine,
I found a house that's fully mine.