The candle sits tall on the bronze stand. It begs the matchstick to strike a light.
The glass jar lay on the table with colorful candies seen peeping through the
The window had remained bolted and the screws and hinges have rusted due to inaction.
Spiders seem to rule the space having woven a maze of webs.
The creepers helplessly stare inside.
The room of her mind is dark, neglected and hopeless.
He seemed to have taken her spirit of living along with him.
Her three year old had been her apple of her eye.
Her bereavement continues.
Written for : Friday Fictioneers. thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
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PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb