Written by Writer Achet Longchari and edited by Editor Meghana
The table and the chairs have made me. The way my hands caressed its edges, colors the speech of my eyes now. The stained mark on the floor re-writes a genealogy of a butterfingered dynasty that sees spilled stains as tattoos with a story. The way the bed lay-In the middle of the ocean suffices the saying that some mistakes look good. I remember how it awkwardly moved to the middle when I last cleaned it. Now it refuses to move back to its state, and has grown stubborn. The cobwebs shout the loudest for a line here. It doesn’t want to be forgotten- For the way it spun and dressed itself so presentably with dirt and memories. The walls have hugged our laughter and cries. I wish it well! Just leaving our empty stares as a gift to it.The last look the door shall behold. It is more a mirror than my real mirror has been. For it saw what my heart truly reflected when I entered home after a day outside its secured coverings. May the last look be the best look it beholds. For it to embrace verily, that our stay was worthy of this poem to remain awake eternally.
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