What the Dust Seems to be Saying
She sits in the house alone.
The sun trickles in, but she's always in a dark room.
Her eyes have long spent all the tears in her body.
A pain so deep her bones are weak and hurt to the touch.
A chill runs through the house and through her body,
but it doesn't matter -- she's always cold now.
She slowly closes her eyes and thinks back--
Back to a time when she smiled.
Back when the house was beautiful
and smelled of lavender and Pinesol.
Nothing was dull. Everything was in its place,
shiny and clean. Fresh flowers always on the table.
Something always baking in the kitchen
for when he'd get home.
But now -- all light, hope, and love is gone. Done.
Or at least that's what the dust seems to be saying.