The balcony door still doesn’t close. When the evening breeze slips through it, the curtains acknowledge it with a flutter. They create a tide of sorts, imitating the sea. As dawn creeps in, everything becomes still- except the dust specks seen in the sunlight coming through the door.
The sound of the sea. the sound of birds flying near the beach. The sound of the tides hitting the shore. The sound that once reverberated in the house. Today, the closed windows separate the sound from the silence in the room.
The candle on the corner the house- witness to smiles, tears, laughter, passion, jealousy, abuses and wounds. Once the lights would deliberately be switched off to make way for the candle light to mellow the air. Trying to figure out the words each other’s eyes spoke when they could hardly see each other is what filled the air with love.
The uncorked bottle of wine on the table, and the two glasses. The glasses were used for sure. Haven’t been washed, maybe. There is still some wine left in one of them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed it yet. Or, maybe, he has just deliberately left it untouched.
Sometime back love bloomed here, everyday. But then, hearts broke. And, like a souvenir, the broken glass on the window pane still stands there. Broken pieces still not picked up from the floor.
The sound of the sea. the sound of birds flying near the beach. The sound of the tides hitting the shore. The sound that once reverberated in the house. Today, the closed windows separate the sound from the silence in the room.
The candle on the corner the house- witness to smiles, tears, laughter, passion, jealousy, abuses and wounds. Once the lights would deliberately be switched off to make way for the candle light to mellow the air. Trying to figure out the words each other’s eyes spoke when they could hardly see each other is what filled the air with love.
The uncorked bottle of wine on the table, and the two glasses. The glasses were used for sure. Haven’t been washed, maybe. There is still some wine left in one of them. Maybe he hasn’t noticed it yet. Or, maybe, he has just deliberately left it untouched.
Sometime back love bloomed here, everyday. But then, hearts broke. And, like a souvenir, the broken glass on the window pane still stands there. Broken pieces still not picked up from the floor.
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