one.

sow the seeds of heaviness, resentment, or simply neglect. the seeds themselves don’t matter; it’s the nourishment that does.

two.

dig up those buried memories of him from the deep recesses of your heart. yank open drawers. sweep through closets. reach into dusty nooks and crannies. when your house has been emptied of his memories, gather them up in your arms like dirty laundry.

but decide against burning them.

because fire burns with a passion, an indescribable beauty. something your love never embodied.

three.

run your hands through the fabrics, the memories drifting in and out of focus, edges frayed with time and neglect. pull them apart one by one, analyze them, search in vain for all the things you did wrong, all the things you could have done better.

when you give up, tear them to pieces. soak them in regret tinged with bittersweet. watch wordlessly as the memories dissolve into nothingness.

water your seeds with care. feed to them the remnants of love and feel the burden lifting from your heart. destroy all evidence that anything ever existed between the two of you.

they call this process catharsis.

four.

recognize the irony of nurturing something born of neglect.

five.

dutifully water your plants every day without fail. reflect that you’ve been drifting away from him, and know, deep down, that it’s because the seeds took root in the gaps between the two of you, widening the rift in your relationship.

six.

when enough time has gone by that the seeds have sprouted, take note of their silver leaves, gleaming white as snow in the frigid morning sun. they bear a resemblance to broken glass, sharp and jagged, bitingly cold and unforgiving. the shards tinkle like chimes when the wind blows.

the music they make is hauntingly beautiful, echoes of a love no longer there.

seven.

the vines snake their way along the walls of your house. idly, just to pass the time, you simply watch their progress as they run rampant. sprawling onto ledges, creeping across panes of glass, obscuring the windows entirely… the tendrils grow like frost as they spread throughout, slowly but surely taking hold.

eight.

it is impossible to forget that these vines grew from the memories you’d purged.

nine.

catch yourself sneaking sidelong glances at the door. entertain the notion that he might show up. the hope is long gone, but the habit still remains.

in a fit of frustration, vow to yourself to stop waiting for someone who isn’t coming back.

ten.

the foliage has grown thick around your house. crafted from frozen silence and unspoken words, undeniably it is a work of art. you cannot help but admire its exquisiteness.

painstakingly nurtured, just like your love. both beautiful to behold, but one the nemesis of the other.

the vines were born from the ashes of love.

eleven.

the stems overlap and intertwine like laced fingers, held hands. they thread your strained relationship; the cracks and fissures blossom like flowers. your home, your heart, is now trapped in a cage of vines and ice.

or is it protected?

twelve.

when he finally does come knocking it is far too late.

you refrain from answering the door. your silence is your answer, after all.

“honey? are you there?” he tries to peer through the leaf-covered windows but ultimately meets with defeat. his hands tug uselessly at the plethora of vines. they fall slack at his sides, marred by cuts. “darling, what is going on? what is this? i miss you…” the bewilderment in his voice is tangible.

he cannot break through this fortress of ice and bitterness. he cannot reach your heart anymore. it no longer belongs to him.

your voice answers him without your permission. “distance.” there is no point trying to conceal the hostility, the undercurrent of hurt that lies just beneath the surface.

but it feels insufficient. this is no explanation. for a long moment, you hesitate. doubt clouds your mind. is it right to drive him away? is this what you really want…?

it is then that you realize there is absolutely nothing left to save.

cold fury holds you in its grip. the words tumble out before you can stop them.

“you don’t belong here anymore.”

the silence stretches out as the words sink in.

there is nothing left to say. his face is impassive and all traces of hurt and confusion have since vanished. he simply turns on his heel and walks off briskly without so much as a backwards glance.

what used to be no longer matters. there is only here, there is only now; this emptiness is all that remains.

he does not even spare you a goodbye.