It’s a hollow play but they’ll clap anyway.

Caved in, move one rock at a time. A familar place, this one. Too much dust on the windowsill and a light on in the upper room. So empty, the place you once were. The wind blows right through me, my heart an ember that glows like a beacon. Hop around in the snow covering all my memories, leave your delicate footprints behind. Loss gets no easier with repetition. A turning under of what we were, a new reality of echoes.

~ by Athena on February 4, 2018.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: