Condemned.

You dilapidate me, like condemned factories that line forgotten streets.

Even as you raze my foundation, you chip away at me like concrete.

Stampede me like a wildebeest, scatter the remnants of what we used to be like debris in demolition.

Our love— gentrified.

Replaced with tempered glass and hollow architecture that reflects everything but contains nothing. Still—

I scrub you away like acid rain, until erosion feels like cleansing.

Until absence starts to resemble peace.

But you return, as ruins do— romanticized, reframed, mistaken for something worth preserving.

And I remember why I loved you— and why I had to let you collapse.