he looked out the window. His father was all finished packing, except for a couple of personal things. She
couldn’t reach him. Her touch flew into the wind. Her embrace collapsed into the fabric of her clothes. But
she never stopped watching until he leaves. Maybe it was a dream and she just want to enjoy until the
very last time because every tiny little thing seems peaceful now. It was not a dream. She didn’t know.
She roamed around the empty space for a little while. Left a note in a crevice of the framework. Just a
reminder of the life once inhabiting its texture. All the memories were already fading. She couldn’t stop it.
And above all else, her precious piece of paper was just too far buried for his hands to grasp.
Maybe one day, I’ll uncover it. – She claims- I’ll know what it is. Surely, it’s about me. Who else would it
be for? I just wish they weren’t leaving. I could help unpack and everything. I’m not gone. I’m still here.
Hey…wait. Please. Don’t make me say goodbye once more.
The space was empty, then. Truly, achingly desolate. She is now a prisoner in a home not his own. Well, it
was, at one point in history. But, what a length of time ago that was. Other people live here now. The life
of the others is passing through her eyes, she didn’t like it at first, but she grows to understand. Holidays
are celebrated, parties are thrown, cosmic mysteries are discussed, days flow by with little things that
sometimes we take for granted when we live. A silent specter observes as lives become a life – the present
buried, sold, abandoned, destroyed. Only when it all is unrecognizable is it time to go.
But that time is only meaningful when my fingers grasp that tiny, folded piece of history and open its
pages. Every moment of mine is a story which others have already had and will continue to have: A
crackling cumulative fireplace, never ceasing, rising towards boundaries of air and space, earth and stars.
Doesn’t mean I can’t cherish it, though. And I have. And I will. For as long as I live(d). Maybe even more.
When you feel dead inside the real death doesn’t change a thing.