Dinners under the chandelier
Meaningless chatter and happy laughter
The delicious smell of quesadilla
Drifting through the air from the counter

Grandma rocking in a corner
Little ones sparked before her
Marveling at her skill with the needle
Entranced by the music from Grandpa's fiddle

Stories by the moonlight
Folktales by the fireplace
Connecting dots with the starlight
Losing track of time in space

She never knew the word 'pain'
Then she felt the pain of death
Till the betrayal of Cain
Till she craved the high of ****

Now pain is all she knows
Pain in all forms and doses
Be it through bullets and blows
Or even the thorns of roses

She's grown so used to it
It's started to feel normal
She's grown so accustomed
Without it she's incomplete

As she sits near the cliff's edge
She dares to think of happier times
As she uses her foot as a wedge
She remembers the oven clock's chimes

She remembers mama's cookies
Her favourite was chocolate
She remembers papa's banters
And Nana's beliefs in fate

She recounts Grandpa's pipe
His delicious mixed smells of tobacco and old person
That must be where the crave started
Her crave for the high of forgetting

As the nostalgia washes over her
She dares herself to cry
She removes her footed wedge
And begins to fly

As she flies she feels nothing
Only an empty fortress
A fortress filled with echoes
Echoes of happiness