Thoughts

Two Kids In The House

A tranquil house once stood before us.

It was still, very still.

It was as though time had stopped.

Butterflies slowly fluttered amongst the tired flowers.

Fireflies lit the ancient garden.

The once green had grown gray.

Sad.

We reached our hands together as we looked upon the decrepit house.

Fear coasted down my spine.

It was odd to be scared of such a warm house.

Wooden planks worn from time, it had bent to our weight.

The iron fence seemed tired. It had rasped when you touched it.

The rust had stained your delicate fingers.

I gripped your hand tightly. Tighter than ever before.

The floors groaned as we made our way into the house.

When we walked, it was cold. My hands were frozen, but I felt so warm.

Why?

We came across a room as I pondered.

It was a small room.

It was a bittersweet room.

Lonely.

It was placid in there.

My eyes went to the smallest details everywhere I looked.

Heart-breaking scratches on a cabinet.

Angrily broken scissors in an open drawer,

Shredded erasers of frustration lay on the pages of a torn book.

Shattered pieces of mirrors dangered our feet.

Ripped pillows lay on the bare floor.

Odd.

They looked like clouds.

Soft, delicate and,

Cold.

The blankets were seizing the small bed.

It was grasping at the bed for support.

I could feel the feverish memories that lingered upon its walls.

Sickly plants stood there on the ledge.

Light streamed in from the window,

Illuminating the overgrown room

Such loving light. It was like a hug.

Ah. This hurts.

My eyes closed as I hid my face from you.

Warm tears trickled down my face as I smiled.

My heart ached with pain.

I clutched my chest to make it stop. Though, it never did.

You were the first to notice me, and you noticed me again.

You asked me if I were okay.

I said I was.

. . .

I'm sorry.

I lied.