Ghosts of memories I have never had
press up against me in this place.
I hear the echoes of your footsteps
running up and down the paneled staircase
but I only see your scuffmarks.
I can sense you beaming at your chandeliers in triumph
and weeping over your darkly draped balcony in agony.
Somehow, I feel like we are family.
I want to comfort you as you weep before me
and bring joy back to your daughter's room.
I enter it freely
but I stop, hit by a wall of memories again
Your heart has been stitched into a masterpiece
encased in glass before me.
these rooms ache for glory
and signs keep asking me to find it.
There's an address to send it to
and a glass box for my change
in case I can buy it.
"It's all so beautiful," I remark,
"but so sad too."
A seeker comforts me, saying, "That's just the way of things."
But will it always be?
The dollar in the glass box says "No."