The only sound the breaks the night was the song of the wind.

Apart from that, the stillness seemed long and unbearable and forever. The walls had finally stopped screaming, and it began to shred its skin, hoping to discover a new hope underneath. Against all uncertainties, odds, and even sheer absence of hope. It bled silently.

The curtain, I'm afraid, continued to sigh and decided to keep its exasperation. I have tried explaining the matter, your situation, but it just looked at me and sighed. It never bothered to offer any response but contentedly suspended itself around the railing, embracing dust; dissolving itself in the labyrinth of the passing years.

Sometimes, it would turn to me and smile, the window. For a fleeting moment, it would allow the edge of its lips to curl, up, up, up, like birds flying then scattering then eventually exploding in the atmosphere until all that's left is the sky hovering above the trees and the remnants of its feather dangling on the leaves.

At night, like tonight, every night, the candle swallows the moon, and fades with summer . I have to ensure that every passerby should witness the fatal glow of its decaying cinders. But I put it there, near the window, not to amaze any passerby. Nor to invite anyone.

I put it there,
near the window,
for you to find your way back home.