I should’ve known better.
Do you remember that day I first met you? Sitting on the corner of that abandoned construction site, begging for help from anyone who would listen. Huddled in a pile of dirt, trash and god knows what else, you were too frail to go more than a few steps without falling over.
I'm sure someone would have been along to help you. I hadn't made eye contact: all I needed to do was keep walking, and you would have been someone else's problem.
…
No.
I couldn't have just left you there. Even as I walked past I could hear your whimpering pleas.
It wouldn't have been right.
I didn’t ask for payment or thanks. I simply accepted you into my home with open arms. Gave you a place you could wipe away the grime of the street and fill your stomach. A place to rest before you set back out into the world.
But no good deed goes unpunished.
In the short time you stayed with me, you were a plague on my existence. Decimating my pantry seemed to be an hourly occurrence. You seemed to take pleasure in finding the most unique ways to ruin my furniture. You demanded every ounce of my attention and then some. Your mere presence became soul-draining.
It was such a relief when you finally walked past my door for the last time.
And yet…
I can’t help but admit it wasn’t all bad.
In those rare moments of silent peace, I couldn’t help but to form a bond with you. The times spent sitting on the couch together, blissfully unaware of the rest of the world around us was comforting in its own way. Having someone there to share in that moment as the woes of the day faded away was pleasant in a way that's hard to find words for.
But now you’re gone, and for better or worse I can’t stop thinking about you.
I should’ve known better.