I turned the page in fear.
And faced emptiness in them.
There was nothing of me.
No one to cherish my story.
How can the page be blank?
I’ve lived decades, haven’t I?
I told my stories. I inked them.
Yet, the words have faded with time.
Love is gone. Love is lost.
Work came first, always.
Guarding the unknown future.
My garden, left uncared for.
Pages, after pages, empty.
Photographs without me in it.
I have ceased to be. Invisible.
My laughter echoes emptiness.
I’ve not heard myself laugh.
Not a belly laughter, or of mirth.
I do admit to the courtesy laugh.
You can’t laugh when you don’t belong.
I’ve arrived here alone, by myself.
This future I’d worked hard for.
I laugh but my laughter is hollow.
Crying wouldn’t be any better.
This is not about self pity. No!
It is the chosen path I travelled.
I look ahead, the past a memory.
I turn the page, and start again.
Words by an invisible pen.
I watch my story unfold, retold.
Emptiness gone. A bell ringing.
I wake up from my nightmare.
By C.E. Pereira
(31-7-2020)
