The Forgotten Room

A poem

The featured image was created by the author using Canva and Picsart.

They stood there,
laughing, in the half-light of dusk —
shadows spilling from their eyes,
while my hands,
trembling, clutched at the silence
between us, a silence
so thick it drowned
out the echo of my breath,
each gasp a whisper
against the faded wallpaper.

I watched
as they spoke of things I could never touch,
their voices like honey,
dripping from lips
that never knew
the bitterness of my tongue.
I swallowed
the ache that twisted in my throat,
a knot of words
unsaid, a scream
buried in the seams of the rug.

In that forgotten room,
the air hung heavy
with the scent of missed chances,
and I, a ghost,
lingered in the doorway,
fingers trailing
the memory of their warmth,
knowing, even as I stood there,
that I had already left.