After a year since I stop writing.
I found myself talking to shadows in my bedroom.
Each silhouette a story, a poem ,a song, that i reach for in the dark.
Each with its own voice.
Some whispers a quiet plea to forget its name.
Some hums a lullaby to sleep with its body.
Some screams and shout to always remember its face.
The scariest ones are the ones which I haven't heard.
Mute words that stares back at me.
Waiting to be spoken, written or sung.
They are always the one which cries in silent.
Those that have boarded the darkest corners of my room.
They stood there until dust and cobwebs gather.
They just stood there waiting.
Story