I turn away from the heat, from the light,

turn away from every last memory I have of you.

Everything we had was in that house.

You left it all behind;

left it for me to deal with.

The tears that roll down my cheeks seem to evaporate before they reach my jawline,

evaporate from the intense heat of the incinerated house.

Our love was never quite this intense,

yet it burned deep enough to force me into doing this,

destroying everything I have left.

Though, without you, none of it held any meaning;

it just reminded me of you,

and how badly you hurt me.

So, as I turn away from the blaze

I pull a picture out of my pocket.

Your picture.

I feel the tears well up in my eyes again when I drop the old memory

and walk away from it,

leaving it behind to burn with the rest of us.

Just like you did.