The White House

We built a house together. A beautiful white house.
Or at least for me, it was one. Maybe just another coffeehouse for you.
Mine had rooms, a dining space, a corner for some beautiful conversations to latch on to.
Maybe yours was just a coffee table.
Oh, no. Not that. I thought you knew.
Those bring ends. You leave after.
But it's okay. It's okay if you say, what I saw and what you didn't and that is why here what we see now is a stranger other.

And my vision painted a flood.

The flood goes. It's the after.
What the eyes cannot see, but sees a mess.
Not an ordinary one. There lies pieces of a beautiful architecture in the flood water saintly resting.
Some broken white house.