She walks into the room with little purpose,
The dust gathering along the shelves brings about a nostalgia she isn’t ready to face,
But nevertheless, she runs her fingertips along its edges,
Tracing meaningless designs along the path,
Her mind wandering to place she wishes it wouldn’t,
Collecting the memories as they blacken her fingertip.
This room is just a room, four walls and a shitty floorboard,
But it is everything to her in these moments,
From the paint chipped ceiling to the tiny crack in the window,
She knows the layout by heart, tracing its patterns even with her eyes closed,
Knows the scenes that have happened here better than her own reality,
That seems to be the price of missing what is gone,
Wanting things to go back to how they once were,
But knowing they will never.
She lets the room embrace her,
The old record player crooning in the corner,
And she watches the sun dance along the mirror by the far wall,
Its light creating rainbows, gliding along the dust and shadows,
Rippling through her heart.
She longs to get lost in here, to live inside her memories a little while longer,
Where the pain fades as quickly as her scars,
But she knows the power of this room,
Knows that her tears will continue to come long after she’s left,
They will still fall outside this place of solace.
So she lets the dust fall back into place,
Not wanting to change the room, for fear it will change the way she once felt,
The way she still feels, the way it clings to her very existence.
As the record player falls silent,
She lets herself dance through the rooms,
Allows herself to be vulnerable in its small confides,
If only for a moment,
But the sun sets, and she knows she has enjoyed this escape for longer than she should,
So she sways for just a little longer, clinging to the dream,
And then she packs her things up and turns to face reality,
Knowing her escape will be here when she returns,
The room will be just the way she left it, covered in dust and longing.