Stillness rests in the air,
I'm not sure if it's good yet.

Because this house will forever be still
and restless.
Like the individual,
tossing and turning
In that kingsized bed,
meant for more than one.

Or the two faint voices,
whispering into the night,
writing worries
for their little monsters to eat,
because who is going to tell them no.

Even the grandiose silver portrait,
looming over the home,
seems sadder than ever,
as she makes eye contact with the dog,
who's gloom pairs quietly with the lighting

Or the little one curled on my chest,
with his last sentence before slumber:
"I really miss baba"
ringing in my ears.