The day you that you decided to leave me, I started making home out of the museum of memories we have created. I started visiting it every day without you; re-reading the scattered stories of our lost love. And everytime I reach the end of this memory lane, when all I am staring at is the pitch black canvass of nothingness symbolizing our present state, something in me would make me want to run back to the beginning and start all over. Something in me wants to go out of this museum because this does not feel like home. Never. Something in me wants to run back into your arms because those are my home. You have always been my home. But I cannot leave this gallery of the broken us because this is all that is left of you and me. The moment you left, was the same moment that I realized that I am not your home. I was left homeless with only our memories cradled in my heart and I need to build a new home with all these broken pieces.

Maybe, one day, it will no longer hurt to look back at all the moments we painted in our memories, but today, I will grieve and let my heart cry for the lost "us" that is beyond saving. Today, I will mourn for our lost love. For a me—without you.

"Museum of Memories"