A lust for home

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I’ve always believed that my soul is more chaotic than these feeble bones can hold. My heart has always been in a constant state of motion. “Always”, is a word that I use often but never do I fully surrender to this six letter word.
My footsteps have made way into people as if they were an enchanted forest and I had to find out the secrets. I’ve set fire to many houses once they served the purpose. My actions aren’t justifiable at times and my conscious long gave up. I have wounded my hands in trying to put the broken pieces of a mirror together.
It seems more enjoyable to put together the broken things I find, only to tear them apart once I have fixed them.
I found a new abandonment and made a home out of it. It seems to be burning me with a cold fire. Sometimes, it melts me on the outside but freezes my inside. I know that there is just as much hate in this world as there is love because, I break things here, only to mend them. I’ve been scratching away the old wallpaper for a while, now. I gave it a fresh coat of silver with a tint of red, but whenever I look away the paint peels to reveal her name.

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