This Isn't About The House Poem by Mr Musa

When I first saw you,
I saw you as a house,
Broken, silent,
with cracked windows
and dust dancing in every corner.

I didn't know why,
but my heart knocked on your door.
And you… you opened it.
You let me in,
as a guest,
who too quickly believed he belonged.

I saw wounds that hadn't healed,
I breathed in the sorrow in your air.
But I didn't turn away.
I rolled up my sleeves
and began to tidy the ruins of your heart
with a love you never asked for.

Every shard of glass I picked up
cut into the soles of my feet.
Every speck of dust I wiped
settled deep in my lungs.
But I didn't stop.
I kept cleaning,
because I believed,
one day, this house would be mine too.

But time whispered something I didn't understand:
This love wasn't building,
it was eroding.

And when I finally
made your house beautiful,
I realized,
I had forgotten my own.
I had abandoned myself in wreckage
just to restore your wounds.

When I returned to my own heart,
my house was destroyed,
no roof,
no strength left to start over.

And that's when I understood:
I'm not a savior.
I'm just a fool
who loved too deeply,
without realizing
he was burning himself
to light the way for someone else.

This isn't about the house.
It's about love that hurts.
About how I tried to heal you
but never had the chance to save myself.

Now I sit alone
in the ruins of my own home,
regretting the time I spent
guarding something
that was never mine to keep.