The rooms with empty beds

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The rooms with empty beds

But even then, Freud said it best, “Our beds are crowded.” Because even after one by one those beds became vacant. No matter the span of time, the past and the people in it always linger on. In echoes and phantoms, the walls come alive. The pitter patter of small children, the loud and crowded kitchen table, the arguments of teenagers, the endless conversations till morning rose, remain. It is all still there; it is all still hers.

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Dead Flowers

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Dead Flowers

So she sat in silence, the argument hardest to refute, in the dead of a torn and wretched night, screaming inside without being able to say a word. And outside, it started raining. The lightning, casting dreary shadows. The thunder, shaking her rickety bones. While HE 247 miles away, on a cloudless night, in the bustle of a carefree night, tossed his head back in careless laughter.

And that, that made all the difference…

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