Rusty Halo

I wanted to open the window, allowing the dust to rise from its slumber along the sill and floor. I wanted a breeze and tapered sunlight to come, coiffed  through the open pane and make a difference on the room I'd left so long alone.

But more than that. I wanted it the way it was. After the whimsical stirring of dust in the fresh air, I wanted order. I wanted the maintenance to be maintained. I wanted the life back in this dull cavern I had dug, in this dingy attic that used to play recluse.

I wanted atonement.

I scuffed my shoes along the densely abandoned floor, remembering in the peeling wood all my hopes for this place, all my hopes for the eternity this place would bring me kin to.

I had shut the door, bolted the lock, and descended the stairs, retaining the potential, the beauty, and the hope within, intent on keeping it forever.

Copper greens under elements, dust falls, decay takes hold. A conserving door does not conserve the condition. What once was clean grows dirty, especially when left alone.

I opened the door to a room I remembered, but in a condition I knew no more.