of time, lost

of time, lost

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of time, lost

let me tell you something about desire…

long for dark rooms.
Crumbling architecture, peeling wallpaper, floors
Polished by years of use.
Dim light.
Mirrors darkened with time,
suspended in silence.

I long for empty rooms.
The residue of emotion contained
within.
Remnants.
Traces of passage,
Forgotten, like wilted bouquets.

I long for silence.
When absence and presence collide,
Emotions unexpressed.
Like forgotten photographs,
And silver teapots,
Tarnished and abandoned in haste. 

All the memories,
Wrapped in tissue paper,
Fragile
and left behind.
All the books gone,
The shelves empty.

–EMZ

www.ewazebrowski.com