The written loom

(..for the things that cannot be said, but still pull you toward them..)

The house had endured too much..

Absence..
Silence..
Ghosts that no longer dared to speak their names..

And now… it had grown tired..

Not from sorrow, but from the need to surrender..

The floorboards stopped creaking..
The inks returned to their jars, quiet, as if they had finally remembered their place..
The postcards, those that remained, gathered into a single box, the same box Talitha once hid beneath the second drawer of her old desk..

The wall that had once disappeared returned..
Not as stone..
But as a veil..

The mirror cracked, a single line like a breath..
And then it turned clear..
Not to reflect anymore, but to allow something through..

Softly..
Gently..
On its own..

Some say they heard a sigh..
Others swear a light moved across the floorboards..

But no one saw who closed the door..

Perhaps because it wasn’t a person..

The house no longer belonged here..

It had become something else..

A Gate..
One that opened only to those who carried inside them a question with no words..
A gaze that had forgotten where it belonged..
A love that was not born in this life, but still searched for its ending..

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Sneak Peek for the next Five Little Chapters :

“The Letters of Talitha – The Ones Never Sent”
(A journey through cards, lifetimes, and ink)

Some letters were never sent.. 
Not because they weren’t written, but because they waited for the right time..