A cheerless cobbled street leads you to her locked-up world.
No window sills with roses or geraniums here.
No magic or daydreams.
No laughter nor life.
It’s quiet up here.
Filled with things no one wanted.
Things left behind.
A forgotten suitcase of abandoned memories.
It once wasn’t so.
It once was a riot of colours.
A laudanum-induced delirium of a dream.
Of intense joy, unbearable sorrow.
And everything in between.
Life, the anesthetic, then did his business.
Numbing what once was aflame.
Freezing what once was frenzied.
A treasure chest of moments.
Anchored to the bottom of everything alive.
At the edge of the ocean,
her reflection just a watery spectre.
Drop a pebble and it’s gone.