I write your words and mine
On torn notebook pages
And fold them into boats,
Letting them flow down the murky stream.
Knowing they’d sink any moment,
But at least our words could meet a common fate,
Dissolve in togetherness.
The way we never can.
She’d preserved her tears,
In an airtight container,
And locked them away,
In the darkest corner
Of the storage.
Her laugh, too,
Lay thoughtfully, in a trunk
Beside those tears,
Just slightly worn out and termite-bitten.
Covered with cobwebs,
And screened by a thick film of dusty memories.
Locked in with rust,
Pervading that age-old scent
And with every sunset,
She awaited the fireflies,
Who’d remind her of warm summer nights
Spent under this very porch.
The swing sat right where it’d been all those years ago,
Only now it was rusted and rotting away.
She heard voices echo all around her,
The empty house suddenly filled by the shouts and laughter of its previous inhabitants.
The stairs creaked with every step she took,
Warning her of the horror that was awaiting her.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the dreaded door.
The pieces of the shattered glass lay right where she remembered them to be,
The mirror, still cracked and blood-stained,
The curtains, half torn down.
With shaking hands, she reached for that trunk,
And she heard her laughter, so full of life, turning hollow.
But then, she pushed open the windows,
To let the summer breeze in,
And grabbed the broom lying in the corner,
Starting to sweep away the remnants of an ugly past.
The sun rays filtering in through the windows,
Had brought the room back to life.
And she heard her laugh turn lively again,
And she looked into the container to see those tears disappear.
Standing by the window with her eyes closed,
She breathed in the fresh air,
Opening her eyes to see the sunset taking away the ugliness from her life.
The fireflies came around, bringing back the smile that she’d once lost in this very room.