While going up the stairs, I see her clear as day, sitting on her wooden chair, waiting for me right by the door.
I feel my lungs yearning for air as I take each step, her voice calling me, and I’m going up as fast as I can
“I’m here,” I call out, realizing no one is there.
And my voice echoes into the empty space, and her chair is still right by the door.
As I look around, I realize It’s cold and empty; it never used to be this way.
Somehow, it resembles how I feel internally in this current moment
The floor tiles of the living room are cracked, and the big, colorful Persian rug filled with extravagant designs is rolled up under the wall
I couldn’t come alone, so I brought mom with me
She seems to be reminiscing about her old life that flashes before her eyes.
The walls that once used to be white, like a set of pearls, are now infected with yellow.
The old green telephone is still on the small table, and under it remain the filled-out betting papers he once used to religiously fill out in hopes of achieving something great.
The big cabinet stands before me with broken doors hanging on each side
He was meant to fix the screws, but he ran out of time before he could
The photos of her children and grandchildren that she would proudly display are gone, and the fine china collection is tucked away in boxes by the door
The jams she made are still in the fridge, and my mom is collecting them like gems to take them home
“You want me to take the fig jam as well?” my mom asks me, “Yeah, it’s the last remainder of her.”
The fridge in the spare room remains, and I can still picture his tall figure leaning on it and smoking.
He knew we didn’t like it when he smoked so that he would go there
They’re gone, but the place is still holding onto them
It used to be a sanctuary, but now it has turned into my worst nightmare…
