All of the pictures collapsed to the floor. A giant thud. A violent smack. A collective sigh of bitter longing. Decorations from the long ago littering my now. Variously faces facing all the sorrow. How. It happened, while expected least. On my knees, forced to see the many deaths I’ve died in me.
All the lonely faces, calling out my former name. Haunting all my unsung songs and singing broken melodies.
The faces. All those faces.
Gone now, each and every one. A phantom of my life gone by.
Appearing as a wanting does, whispering and taking from me a sense of well being I thought I had. They take it now, those photographs. My joy is always theirs to have. Those faces. All those faces.
Like a wind against a wide-paned window, wild framed windows to my soul; their eyes, their many many eyes, and how they laugh. Come from my past, reminding me of all I lack.
The windows will not open and the blinds here are kept shut.
Above, a turtle type of dove. Just one. Flies now away. But its sadness, all its loveliness, right here in me shall stay.