No one knew exactly how it began..
Only that suddenly, the cards were everywhere..
They fell from the rooftop, burst through the fireplace, wedged themselves beneath the door with such force that the wood creaked under the weight of their words..
Cards for Talitha..
Unknown names..
Unknown languages..
And yet, all of them… knew exactly who they were looking for..
The mailbox erupted..
It boiled over as if it had been holding its breath for years..
And at some point, it flew across the room, crashing to the floor, not from impact, but from the sheer inability to hold any more waiting inside it..
The inks began to tremble..
One by one, the glass bottles lifted slightly from the shelves, as if trying to dance, but unsure what kind of dance it was..
And then… they broke loose.
They began writing on the wall..
Not with a pen..
With themselves..
Words that do not exist in dictionaries..
Lines that bled with memory..
Phrases that felt like prayers, but with no God to receive them..
“You didn’t come..”
“I was here..”
“How many lives more.?”
“Don’t fade..”
The scrolls rose from their drawers, fluttering like battle flags in a war with no defeat..
With no wind..
With no hands..
Books flung themselves open..
Pages turned wildly, like time when it forgets its path..
The dust no longer fell gently..
It crashed to the floor like ash that remembered it had once been fire..
And outside.. someone happened to pass by the little path..
He paused..
He looked at the house..
Postcards flew from the windows..
Golden ink poured from the chimney..
The walls trembled..
The curtains danced..
And something inside the wood began to murmur..
They didn’t know what to think..
Or what to say..
They simply stood there and stared..
And somewhere, tucked within the leaves of an old notebook that struck their shoulder as it fell from the air, they read a sentence written in ink that sounded like a whisper:
“What you left behind is looking for you.
Don’t leave before you answer.”
to be continued..
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