| Whispers I move slowly, an old woman at just seventeen. My footsteps hollow battle drums as I wander aimlessly through rooms deserted. The empty husk of the house, settles around me in the dark, a ghost�s step in the hall. The wood, like glossy river stones, screams lamentations for you, up at me. I have no place to go to ignore the sting of absence. Is that your ghost in the hall? My voice quivers as I sing under my breath, a child who hums her own lullaby. The one you once sang to me. Jessica Juniper, girl with golden hair. Is she sleeping? Yes, I think so. Is she breathing? Yes, ever low. Standing here alone, I feel made of eggshells, cracked and strained to breaking. The hallways fill with memories, so that I can�t close my eyes without seeing your face. |