Another Child

The shattered fragments scatterd on the floor spoke of hearts thoroughly broken. The strands of hair, sticky with sweat, indicated the constant, unconquerable stress. The softness and lightness of the hair portrayed the beauty of the head it was pulled from. The words on the paper, blurred from something akin to tears portrayed pained insides impossible to reach.

Another child once lived here, said the neatly made bed beside the used one. A child no longer here, murmured the silent belongings collecting dirty dust daily. The gazed-at photo of the missing child bellowed volumes of the love that was replaced by yearning. Black streaks flaunting presence boldly on a paper strewn on the ground uncerimoniously spoke of the trauma inflicted by the tradgedy. Swollen eyes attested to the pain, invincible in its source.

the small nightable lamp, though, presented tingling, almost insensible hope of a tomorrow. The sun rising behind the drawn shades sang sweetly of light sprouting from within the depths of night. The needle and thread somewhere about instilled an urge to sew the open gashes and heal the scars. The nose of the lightswitch peering downward softly whispered that a spark can only shine when surrounded by darkness.