The Woman sat in the empty chair

The Woman sat in the empty chair

She sat there in the corner chair,
laughing softly at the empty air.
She argued with a teapot’s lid
about the things the moon once hid.

She knitted clouds from silver thread,
then wore them proudly on her head.
She scolded spiders, bowed to flies,
and winked at invisible butterflies.

She claimed the wallpaper sang at dawn,
then said the melody had gone.
The ceiling whispered, “Don’t look down,”
so she curtsied to an unseen crown.

She told the clock it talked too fast,
then asked the future about the past.
She fed three crumbs to a chair by the door,
then shouted, “enough! I’ve got no more!”

The doctor smiled and wrote a note,
while pigeons nested in his coat.
The nurses sighed, “She’s quite absurd.”
She answered every silent word.

She asked the mirror, “Who are you?”
The mirror stared as mirrors do.
She frowned and said, “Well, that’s quite rude.
I asked you first, so change your mood!”

She danced with shadows across the floor,
then locked them safely behind the door.
She whispered secrets into a spoon,
then told it, “You’ll be famous soon.”

She wore one slipper, one bright shoe,
and claimed the floor was turning blue.
She blamed the curtains for the rain,
then made them promise not to do it again.

She said the moon had lost its hat,
and blamed a rather guilty cat.
The cat just blinked and walked away,
as if it had a busy day.

Then someone asked, “Who’s mad in here?”
She smiled and pointed at the mirror.
“Why ask me? Surely you can see—
someone much stranger is looking back at me.”

The room fell still. The clock struck three.
The nurses stared. The doctor froze.
The woman smiled mysteriously.

Then suddenly she rose from her chair,
straightened her dress and smoothed her hair.
She walked towards the open door
and vanished down the corridor.

They searched the room from wall to wall,
behind the curtains, under it all.
But there was nothing. Not a clue.
Not even one forgotten shoe.

Just one small note upon the chair,
written in ink that wasn’t there.

It simply said, “I’ve gone to tea.
Don’t wait up. I’ll be back at three.”

The doctor stared. The nurses too.
Nobody knew quite what to do.
Then from the mirror came a grin—
and someone whispered, “Let her in.”

But when they turned, there was nobody there.
Only the empty corner chair.

And nobody ever quite knew who she was—
the woman who laughed at the empty air.

Why was she there ?