There is a window that’s light wanders away from it. Walks into the black, into distant memory.
There is that light that flickers windless, lone. There, in that cold and still, and never goes out.
In that window, it’s all grey and silent. Past the glass and frame, married into the laughter that stopped decades ago. Smiles that have long since disappeared. Stories that the walls no longer hold.
Every tear shed, every drop of sweat, for a bloodless dream. In that dream, ripples upon lakes and the moon’s twin gone.
Every bit of its pale wonder vanished in the click of a second hand. Every wish blown with it as well.
There is a window that no longer holds its light. It grows dimmer under closed eyes, curses under breath, and lanternless nights outside.
Away from home and history.