I built a house of trust, a quiet, sturdy thing, With open doors and windows where the morning light could sing.
I laid the floor with patience, and the walls with honest grace, A sanctuary offered, a dedicated space.
They came in like the summer, all warmth and easy smiles, And promised me forever, across a thousand miles.
I gave them every key, every secret, every spare, Believing that a good heart was a bond beyond compare.
But the good guy is a scaffold, a structure to ascend. A temporary platform until the journey’s end.
They took the light and left the dark, they stripped the house to bone, And walked away on tiptoe, leaving me utterly alone.
Now I stand in the wreckage, where the wind blows cold and thin, A hollow, echoing chamber where the love used to begin.
The blueprint of my giving, a foolish, faded scroll, For the kindness I extended only cost me my own soul.
The world outside is vibrant, but the colors here are gray, And the man who built the house has nothing left to say, Just the cold, hard realization, a lesson learned in pain
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