Even the windows had acquired the moss. It sprawled on the pavement, the moss, with all those leaves, fallen barks, soda bottles and old hapless notebooks. The pane was shattered, its edge towering, watching time and absorbing solitude.

The **** on the front door was damped and covered in rust. From the roof, stray veins dangled and decided to suspend themselves in mid-air. Scattered on the pavement leading to the entrance were glittering kisses and shards of glass. A shadow from the past lurks apprehensively – hiding behind the wind, bending below the grass.

They say it was sleeping down the cellar. I never found out. But in the middle of it, a chair has been deserted – broken and abandoned.

The hinges creaked as l slipped my foot inside. I shivered at the face of desolation as my leg touched the corner of the door. The passing time ruined the flooring; stray plants and bleeding flowers sprouted the space and occupied the place. Sometimes, at night, fireflies light this void and drown themselves in ecstasy.

Sawdust fluttered carelessly round the stairs that ceased breathing halfway. The steps have retained the sound of the shuffling footsteps. Even the birds fear this spot, the windowpane had lost all its former glory and shining reflections. The edges of the glasses hang loose and proud, captivating than summer, sharper than words.

I moved close, bended my knees, placed my ear near your half-opened mouth and listened to the sound of your breathing. Your hair draped down the side of your arms, half of your face is hidden away from me and I wonder if you’re calling me in this dream, exhaling my name

Over
And over
And over
And over

Leaving traces and creases on the sheet as I staggered my way back beside you from the labyrinth of this captivating decay unfolding on your very palm.