wren

2/7/23

She carries her sadness in a brown leather suitcase with silver buckles

Strolling through the halls of an empty mind palace,

Humming along to quiet echoes of what once was

Sunlight streaming through shards of stained glass windows, cracked stone pillars and shelves

Dust mites dancing in dark corners

Pothos peeking through pinholes in patterned tile

And she stops, and she looks at that great, crumbling, stone automaton, silent and still

And she laughs, that silver girl, suitcase in hand and storms hidden deep beneath her pupils

She laughs

And it is beautiful