I built a house with the love of my life
by: Luke Stursma
I built a house with the love of my life.
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We built it from the ground up, just the way we wanted.
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We made skylights so we could look at the moon.
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Built high windows so we could look at the sea.
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And made small places where we could hide,
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To hold each other in the dark.
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We had a garden, and we filled it with beautiful things;
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Baby’s breath, amaryllises, cornflowers, daisies, and irises.
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We built high arches and installed smooth floors, added granite counters, and hung crystal chandeliers.
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It was perfect. Everything was perfect.
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Then one day, she came home with a bag at her side.
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I had never seen it before.
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It was big and black and bulky.
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She had to use both hands to carry it, and still, she struggled to keep it in her grip.
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She walked past the tall mahogany doors of our home
and dropped the bag to the ground.
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It crashed into the walnut floorboards, the ones we had worked so hard to put in together, and landed with a sickening crunch.
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“You’re going to crack the floorboards,” I whispered, too soft for her to hear.
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She collapsed into my arms, her body fitting perfectly against mine
“I love you,” she told me. I said I loved her too.
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We spent the evening laying in a hammock by the window, holding each other until the sunset.
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The next day when she came home she had the bag again.
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I had hoped she wouldn’t bring it home this time.
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And like before she threw it away.
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It fell to the floor with a thud. The impact sent a shock through my body.
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“You’re going to crack the floorboards” I breathed.
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Then she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed me.
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Her lips were softer than the finest silk, lighter than cloud
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“I love you,” she told me. I said I loved her too.
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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.
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The next day was the same. The bag came home and smashed to the ground.
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“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
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“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.
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I took her hand in mine and smiled.
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“I love you,” she told me. I said I loved her too.
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Then we snuck off to one of our hiding places for the night.
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Every day was the same. My love came home, with that horrible, disgusting bag,
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And every day she slammed it into the foundation of the home we’d built together.
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One day, when she came home, the bag was bigger than before. Bulkier.
And when she threw it down, the floor finally gave way.
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A crack lurched out from under the bag, like lightning streaking across a storm cloud.
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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.
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“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?”
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The words flew from me before I could stop myself.
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I was driftwood on the red wave that crashed over me.
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I looked at my love, the fire fading from my soul, and saw tears in her eyes.
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I froze in my tracks. A cold hand gripped my heart.
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I reached out to her, to hold her face, to wipe away her tears.
“I love you” I whispered.
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She recoiled from my touch. And then she turned and ran.
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Leaving me alone in a ruined house.
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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.