Ahh there it is, the same empty space.
Where cobwebs and dust bunnies remain...
There was something fascinating about that place; although it was a corner no one explored, there was a familiarity, in a way.
Where spreader sheets remained and old mixed tapes piled in stacks.
I entered once again into this old place to leave behind a pile of writings and freshly new tapes.
To store away what it won't do good, and to leave everything behind, where it should.
Like always, I'll look around and see all the piles of things that have turned yellow and green.
I'll walk away and close the gate before it's too late,
before hear the mixed recorders hit play and wash my smile away.
I'll lock it well and step away as I turn around before facing again what was left on the ground.
YOU ARE READING
Fragments of the Broken
Teen FictionJournal of broken pieces, where broken hearts and broken people lie on. Where you'll find things that you might've felt at a time or seen before your eyes. A projection, an art expression of things we keep, things we see. We are all Wallflowers, and...
