plasterMature

There is happiness in this room;
sank into the walls, a faint whisper
of its perfume hanging in the air -
a burst of familiar rememberance
like a dust cloud when you sit down
in our favorite armchair,
jostling the air and stirring up
old jokes and older sorrows
that've been pushed, buried
down in the creases of worn fabric.

Lost, unremembered, undisturbed,
for days, weeks, months -
but never gone, never vanished.
Always lurking somewhere.

The End

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