I gave my time, my hands, my soul,

To walls once crumbling, made whole.

With every nail and aching bone,

I carved a dream, I built a home.

Sweat fell like rain from weary skin,

Each scar, a story held within.

I traded moments, laughter, days,

For something strong that wouldn’t fade.

And when it rose, that humble grace,

Joy lit the corners of the space.

A quiet pride, a hopeful song—

It finally felt like I belonged.

But then the storm behind his eyes,

The silent hurt I couldn’t disguise.

Depression took the man I knew,

And left me lost in all I’d do.

Still, I stayed. I patched, I prayed,

Finished what we both had made.

And chose the vow above the stone,

To leave the house, but not alone.

I placed it gently in the hands

Of someone I believed could stand

And see the sweat upon those floors,

And hear the echoes in the doors.

But they saw only wood and weight,

Not love, not time, not heavy stakes.

They missed the tears dried in the grout,

The silent screams I’d painted out.

Now dust collects where dreams once danced,

And every glance just feels like chance—

Like maybe all I built was air,

Too fragile, handed with despair.

I’m tangled in what’s left behind,

In grief and love and hope confined.

Did I fail, or did they not see?

What that home—what he—had meant to me?