Paradise?

I used to live in a beautiful home. We built it with the intentions of living there together…forever.
Well manicure grass. Clean gutters. An inviting brick walkway. Impeccably painted.
Wood burning fireplace. Fresh flowers on the table.
A staircase that led to the master suite, where we sweetly mastered each other.
It overlooked a garden that we often fed upon.
I cooked and he emptied trash.
Our own personal paradise.
Even paradise has its imperfections.
Like when we’d leave.
Unknowingly we’d invite in insecurity.
Without warning open our doors to infidelity.
Unsure which one led to the other or if the beauty of this home became too much to manage.
Either way the things that made this house lovely slowly started being neglected.
Weeds in the front yard. Overflowing gutters. Chipped paint.
Empty vases. No wood. Masters became novices. Fruit and vegetation slowly rot.
Home cooking was replaced by meals that came in bags. Trash started to overrun.
It became a dump.
Like love, once paradise, meeting its demise to parasites.
Feeding on unsuspecting and unprepared hosts.
Two unwitting spirits that didn’t realize that paradise is the place that lives within.
The place without walls, walkways and windows.
Not a palatial palace on a street with no address and broken keys.
Not a dream like state detached from reality.