The basement air was colder tonight
and the sign hung heavier with dust,
its letters curling into fragile grins,
\"The Smile Room,\" it read, but whispered.
It sat before me like a dare
scratched wood peeling like old laughter,
a reluctant door holding untold shadows,
more familiar with silence than smiles.
No cheerful hum of forgotten gatherings—
just an ache of time wedged within,
the kind that settles in a place
where corners lean deeper into sadness.
I thought of wide, toothy grins collapsing,
of lips stretching past the point of comfort.
Still, I could not twist the rusted knob;
some rooms are better left unopened.