We stare at each other, seeing nothing.
The turmoil of our thoughts reflected in our blank expressions.
Me, silently debating with myself about fashion,
You, trying to erase the traces left of a ring.
Long gone is the laughter, the sound of joy,
the endless discussions are finally over.
The fourth leaf has fallen from our clover.
“Us“ remains shattered in the corner, like a broken toy.
What links us in this room is silence.
A cemetery of thoughts and feelings in our heads
and in that mental desert, a creature slowly treads
toward its deathbed, accepting the end.
I get up and creep into the bedroom.
The cupboards are empty, your clothes no longer on the floor.
I hear the distant clicking of the front door.
Standing amidst our remains: me, with dry eyes.
By Maria Wolff