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Beach House

Waterlogged wooden

beams held the

house up high

above the shoreline.


Splintered steps lead

up to the decaying

front door,

whose rusted

brass knocker

had fallen to

the sandy deck.


The carpet and couch

smelled sweetly sour.

Like a man made of

ocean mist and

sea salt

had lived their

for years.


But I knew that

I was it’s only

inhabitant.

Other than

the occasional crab.


The former

vacation home,

now vacant

of its owners,

was a haven

for me.


It held my

secrets.

It swallowed my

stress.

It understood

me.


How could it not?


After all,

it was abandoned

and left to rot.

Just as you

abandoned me.

Beach House

Waterlogged wooden beams held the house up high above the shoreline. Splintered steps lead up to the decaying front door, whose...