It came to me as a haunting dream — a broken hallway forgotten in reality:
He plummeted down
torn drapery in
faded crimson
of which this
Hallway
Hangs an array
from its
High
Ceiling lifted by a shared future.
He scuttles down
worn floor boards
under roughed carpet
of which each
squeak
dissolves into this
vacuumed
corridor stretched by
endless doorways
He disappears
soundlessly
into a room
where He
crouches
in a distant
corner
of closing walls and
shadowless floors,
sneaking in
voices,
laughters,
smooches
of an erased past
emanating
from this empty room.
And then I realise,
It is I,
foraging the trenches
in my mind,
concealing a forgotten little boy
clutching on to
forsaken memories
of a forlorn remnant
of Our discarded Love.