The walls
no more
hold the carved messages that should remain
but disappeared with time
as the walls were painted, and painted again

The sands
should still
hold all of the footprints that we’d made
as they were trampled upon
time and time and time again

The land
now barren
ought not to have seemed like a sight unknown
for nothing grows here
like it did perhaps a lifetime ago

But the scent of the air and the caress of the breeze
the sound of the thundering rain on days like these
the muscle memories retained of familiar switches, locks and keys
the surge of thoughts triggered by a glass of tea

Are reminders
of everything
that used to be

© Ast7


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