End

Her fingers tremble

Tremble as she wipes the dust off the knob

Opens the lock with her key

Staring at the staircase with melancholy.

It is here she spent

Spent the best years of her life

Running up and down playing with Ma

Learning new songs, trying Salsa.

She walks inside and looks

Looks into the barren rooms

A memory makes her smile

She touches the wall and waits awhile.

Why is it hard

Hard to let go

The new owners will be here by noon

It won’t be hers, it will be theirs soon.

They’ll make memories

Memories which were hers once

Of dancing in the Kitchen, laughing like a retard

Sneaking a kiss with her first in the backyard.

Will they keep it better

Better than her family?

Will they hang murals, paint the wall blue

Will they plant roses and make some bonsai too?

She thought about the days

Days when the house was happy to be their home

She wishes for its happiness and lets out a tear

Then prays for its growth for it is still very dear.

She reluctantly turns her back

Absorbs the jealousy

Best things, possibly, come to an end

Move on, make room for new or, at least pretend.