The pain within runs deep.
Below the dollhouse, it flows like the river.
Always flowing, even in the calmest of moments.
The pain within can be felt throughout the soil.
Her tears nourishing the ground she walked upon.
The pain within spills over and outward into her aura.
The pain then grows, blooming like the dahlia.
For all to see, the bloom of pain shimmers in the moonlight against the glistening snow.
The pain blankets the grass, choking it's breathe until the energy of the atmosphere goes numb.
The void.
The place inside where the pain dwells.
The empty vessel that we fill with our worries and fears.
The void.
The void is where the pain transforms.
The place where the rose can grow through the thickest of brick.
He mourns her.
With every breathe he takes.
It is difficult for him to stand tall, without her.
Love letters and trinkets he keeps protected,
hidden deep behind the basement steps.
Fresh rose petals lay where she took her last steps.
Memories of their love push the tears out.
Down his face they fall, hitting the concrete floor.
Many lived here at the Dollhouse.
Many worked here.
Many died here.
Many chose to stay forever.
Their energy becomes part of the Dollhouse.
Absorbed by the beautiful hardwood floors and plaster walls.
Door handles constantly rattle.
I have watched them shake with my own eyes.
Shadows dance in every room.
I have witnessed their performances.
Whispers and chatter creep out of the enormous heater vents.
My ears hear their conversations.
The chandeliers blink.
The doors close on their own.
The floorboards creak and moan.
A love so strong.
He promised her forever.
A hundred years later and his love for her still remains.
His dearest Leona,
The sweetest love he has ever known.
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