My heart was an empty home.
A constant open house.
Many interested in finding somewhere to live would pay a visit.
Some didn't feel comfortable on the couch of my conscience.
Others didn't like the arrangement of my emotions.
They all appreciated how they instantly felt at home, welcomed, even though they just got there.
But most didn't want a home that easily handed to them.
They were used to having to build their own shelters, bringing their old furniture and baggage into new homes and trying to create that warm, loving, comfortable feeling.
Their love couldn't adjust to my already furnished home complete with amenities, rent free.
Clean cupboards, ready and willing to be filled with food for thought and an unlimited ration of passion.
No skeletons in any closets or ghost wandering the corridors freely.
Only a "Welcome" mat and a key to come and go as they pleased.
Halls plastered with images of their smiles.
Breezes coming through open windows during the spring with the sounds of their voices.
Kisses to keep them cool in the summer.
Hugs with a warm embrace during the autumn.
And love with a burning passion similar to a fireplace in the coldest of winters.
Yet, here I am.
An empty home.
Wishing that Love and You could be tenants inside my heart.
But it always seems like one of you get evicted before the other tenant gets to move in.
Which makes me a landlord for Love that never gets to collect on such a debt or invest.
The heart is where, because home is where my heart is.