I built a house with the love of my life

by: Luke Stursma

I built a house with the love of my life.

We built it from the ground up, just the way we wanted.

We made skylights so we could look at the moon.

Built high windows so we could look at the sea.

And made small places where we could hide,

To hold each other in the dark.

We had a garden, and we filled it with beautiful things;

Baby’s breath, amaryllises, cornflowers, daisies, and irises.

We built high arches and installed smooth floors, added granite counters, and hung crystal chandeliers.

It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

Then one day, she came home with a bag at her side.

I had never seen it before.

It was big and black and bulky.

She had to use both hands to carry it, and still, she struggled to keep it in her grip.

She walked past the tall mahogany doors of our home

and dropped the bag to the ground.

It crashed into the walnut floorboards, the ones we had worked so hard to put in together, and landed with a sickening crunch.

“You’re going to crack the floorboards,” I whispered, too soft for her to hear.

She collapsed into my arms, her body fitting perfectly against mine

“I love you,” she told me. I said I loved her too.

We spent the evening laying in a hammock by the window, holding each other until the sunset.

The next day when she came home she had the bag again.

I had hoped she wouldn’t bring it home this time.

And like before she threw it away.

It fell to the floor with a thud. The impact sent a shock through my body.

“You’re going to crack the floorboards” I breathed.

Then she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed me.

Her lips were softer than the finest silk, lighter than cloud

“I love you,” she told me. I said I loved her too.

That night we danced in the kitchen, spinning one another around with grins like crescent moons. And when the music stopped, we kept on dancing.

The next day was the same. The bag came home and smashed to the ground.

“You’re going to crack the floorboards” I frowned. She didn’t hear my words, but when she saw my grimace she ran to me, took my face in her hands, and asked

“What’s wrong, my love?” her voice drifted to my ears like a mountain breeze flowing over a field of wildflowers. And her eyes, as bright and blue as a tropical sea and filled with warmth, drank me in, searching my melancholy face for answers.

I took her hand in mine and smiled.

“I love you,” she told me. I said I loved her too.

Then we snuck off to one of our hiding places for the night.

Every day was the same. My love came home, with that horrible, disgusting bag,

And every day she slammed it into the foundation of the home we’d built together.

One day, when she came home, the bag was bigger than before. Bulkier.

And when she threw it down, the floor finally gave way.

A crack lurched out from under the bag, like lightning streaking across a storm cloud.

A sound like a gunshot erupted as the fissure splintered down the length of the board, a great black scar on the once pristine floor.

“How could you do this?” I cried. “I knew this would happen! Now the floor is cracked! Our house is ruined! Do you not care about what we built together?”

The words flew from me before I could stop myself.

I was driftwood on the red wave that crashed over me.

I looked at my love, the fire fading from my soul, and saw tears in her eyes.

I froze in my tracks. A cold hand gripped my heart.

I reached out to her, to hold her face, to wipe away her tears.

“I love you” I whispered.

She recoiled from my touch. And then she turned and ran.

Leaving me alone in a ruined house.

I realized then, my eyes hot with tears and chest heavy with regret,

that I shouldn’t have been so worried about the floorboards.

I should have wondered why she was carrying such a heavy load.