At first it was a house.
A bed sheet tied from one end to the other,
A home for me and my stuffed toys.
Then it was a spy-cave,
Protecting me from harm, as I dodged imaginary bullets and shot back with my comb-gun.
Then came the time
For a fortress of solitude.
A safe space to crawl into and hide the tears of my tween years.
Then a temple of focus.
Littered with scrunched up paper balls and mugs of tea gone cold.
Helping me get good grades so I can have a better future.
My beautiful pink table with bits of white woven in.
Four unknown manga girls poised on the cabinet door,
Their blue eyes alight with dreams to match my own.
Half faded stickers from that time Abbu bought me a packet, surprising everyone with this sudden act of splurging.
Tea stains on the white bits from the years of all-nighters; Ammu often staying up late to bring me study snacks.
Haphazardly cut out pictures stuck at odd angles; from the time my sister made a scrapbook and I was blown away by her creativity & wanted to do the same but never succeeded.
My gorgeous pink table.
The top drawer keeping my life’s secrets and sorrows safe in my journal.
The small built in cabinet, proudly housing my slowly growing Harry Potter book series, among picture books of old.
The bottom shelf, where I hid my rock collection to protect it from my sister’s cleaning frenzies.
My buddy. My fortress. My safe space.
Then came the day of its demise.
Kicked and punched under fits of rage
Until it was broken into pieces with jagged ends.
Finally, a weapon of terror.
As you came at me with a piece of the broken table,
As the row of nails that once provided support for my heavy books were an inch away from piercing my eyes,
I truly saw it for what it was,
A painful goodbye with a prickly end.
No longer a home.
No longer a spy cave.
No longer a fortress.
Only bits of jagged wood.
Pieces of a life, broken beyond repair.
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