There is a window that light wanders away from. 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, that 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 the dreams they held. In those dreams now, ripples upon lakes and the moon’s twin gone.
Every bit of its pale wonder vanished. Every wish blown as well.
There is a window that grows dimmer under the lanternless nights outside. The light has left one last time.
Away from home and history.