For one day forever

There are no flowers, nor of pots to carry them. There are no more laces, nor of ribbons. Nobody on the going balcony. That the absence, a closed door. Broken panes. There is only rust, steamed wood. There are only the symbols of an unobtrusive past. Ends, remainders of life. Disappeared through being gray. There are no more projects, nor of words to affirm them. There is nothing any more but the vacuum which is bored. By turn in round. Between four walls where all is melted. Memories, colors, misfortunes. It is there only the black and its afraid. There is not that the shades of a light which dies. Not to be not looked at. Swept by the being engulfed wind. Without being invited. Carrying the cold of the winter or the heat of the summer. There is this idea that nothing any more will be like front. There is the lack of this laughter of children. Their cries, their plays, their combat. All carried by the joy of being there. Between the walls of the beautiful house. That which protected so much from confessions. It there to date where the door was closed. There is the silence which settled. For one day forever. Damaging itself while crying to be forsaken.