Soulful music drifts on the warm breeze, pushing past gauzy curtains with reckless abandonment. Drifting ever so sweetly across the room, filling the emptiness.
Thick pockets of dust have settled in this place awakened by the hum. Who was the last to leave this place? And who will be the first to return?
Damp drips of yesterday’s tears appear fresh as spring on the bones of this place. Brushing the past with a swift open palm, she has doubt in her heart and sadness in her eyes.
Never again.
Yet, here she is.
Yellowed lace sweeps across the floor, colored by the hands of time; now is the time.
Can she return to this place? Did she really leave?
Welcome home, sweet woman,
welcome home.
