And when I return, after a long time, there is nothing.
I don’t know what I expected from this place where we loved, lived, laughed, died, but it clearly wasn’t this desertion. Everything is gone: the piano, the bar, the dance floor, the glittering lights, the mirrors. There is no shard of glass to cut through memory’s membrane. All my thoughts stay bound up tight, indistinguishable from one another, as I float into the open hallway.
We used to smoke out here, before the bullets came. I can no longer cry, but I can blend into the walls and wait.
Written for 50 Word Thursday [100 words].
Image source unknown.
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