Are you ready?
The house seems so empty that when you start packing up everything I don't really care. Take their bed. Take Dad's favorite couch. Take Mom's coveted china cabinet. Take it all. It means nothing without them.
"I'm going to put it into storage," you say with a hand on my shoulder. "Just until you need it."
"Ok." I nod my head, but I don't really care. Burn it all. The memories are too hard.
In fact, let's burn this house down. You say one day I can come back. Live here. Because it's mine now. I don't want it. Where's the laughter? The tears? The fights? Echoing down the hallway like ghosts? Not even. This place is empty.
"Bella?"
"Yeah?"
You have tears in your eyes and that green, that beautiful, gorgeous green, seems to glow so brightly. If tears weren't so sad, I would tell you to have tears in your eyes all the time. Lucky you. Tears on me just streaks my mascara and makes my eyes red. Maybe that's why I haven't cried yet. My eyes are as empty of tears as this house is as empty of people.
"Are you ready?"