the room

by In All Our Years

There is a hollow room I know.
It was not always there.

It used to hold volumes for the ones I love. The tables and shelves were full and brimming with caring, kindness, service, commitment and love.

Life started out so fresh and new and there was no worry of why or when or with who, it was just you. And then one day, there was another and another and another and the room became full. And as time went on, the center and walls of the room were challenged and stretched and pulled. The ones you love question who and why and what and it was just you, it has always just been you.

As answers were spoken they were not always understood and the pages were torn and tables were broken and the volumes became old and tattered and threw.

And then one day, floods come and fill and brim inside the room until you are unable to breath and you fall to the ground, gasping for what little breath is left and you sit on the floor, the earth holding you.
Its all that’s left, and its just you.

And as you sit, time passes by and the room that used to hold volumes is now mostly empty. There are a few pages left on the floors and a table or two. And there is one book, on a broken chair that you dare not read because the title says, Love is You.

And the book waits, Love is You, and your eyes well and flow because its always just been you.

There is a hollow room I know.
It was not always there.

I wish I knew how to fill it again, its just me.