Sunlight spills
onto the hardwood,
seeping through a crack
in the hallway’s last door.

Steps echo heartbeats,
click, click; click, click,
rising to a crescendo
like coming thunder.

A half-hearted nudge
spreads the door's gap,
releasing the light
and an ominous creak.

A thick, sudden silence
swallows the sound,
and the purple-walled room
smells of cucumber melon.

A gray sweater
draped on a swivel chair,
rests lifeless
beside the unmade bed.

A dried palette
hardens on the desk,
an interrupted paintbrush
paused mid-stroke.

Shadows stretch long
against the weeping wall,
longing to wear
the half-painted canvas.

The light yields to dusk,
and the room exhales,
mourning a life,
unfinished.