Dust and Echoes

The attic air hangs thick, like syrup, sweet and cloying,
with the scent of mothballs and forgotten joying.
Sunbeams, fractured, dance on dust motes swirling,
a silent ballet of time, eternally unfurling.

I came up here to find… I don’t know, really.
Just something tangible, something to feel, deeply.
Amongst the cobwebs and the shadowed spaces,
to find a ghost of her, in these forgotten places.

Her old trunk sits there, leather cracked and worn,
a silent sentinel, since the day she was torn
from this world, leaving a hole in the fabric of my days,
a constant, dull ache in a thousand different ways.

I lift the heavy lid, the hinges protesting,
a rusty scream that echoes, barely resting.
Inside, a cascade of lace and faded hues,
the ghosts of dresses, whispers of worn-out shoes.

A photograph, tucked beneath a silken shawl,
catches my eye, and makes me want to bawl.
Her smiling face, so vibrant, full of light,
a stark contrast to the unending night
that settled in my soul the day she went away.
I trace her cheek, wishing she could stay.

It’s been five years, they say time heals all wounds,
but this one festers, beneath the silent moons.
I’ve built a life, moved on, in outward show,
but inside, a piece of me just refuses to grow.

I find her letters, tied with faded string,
postmarked dreams she never got to sing.
Her hopes and fears, penned in her looping hand,
a life unfinished, in this desolate land.

I read each word, her voice a gentle hum,
each sentence a reminder of what’s yet to come.
She urges me to live, to laugh, to love again,
to find the joy that she knew, way back then.

The dust motes dance, the sunbeams start to fade,
as evening settles, a gentle serenade.
I close the trunk, a quiet click and sigh,
and leave the attic, with a tear-filled eye.

But something’s shifted, something’s rearranged,
a lightness in my heart, a soul that’s been exchanged.
I still miss her, the ache will always stay,
but now it’s tinged with hope, and a brighter, newer day.
The echoes of her laughter, soft and clear,
no longer bring me sorrow, but banish all my fear.
She lives on in my memories, bright and bold,
a story whispered, never to grow old.
And in the silence, I can almost hear,
her gentle whisper, “Live, my dear, live, my dear.”