Suddenly the building seemed too dank to her.
She sees the paint chip off exposing its raw, grainy skin; a deep, dark scar, its mouth split open on its firm, flaky skin stares at her as she slowly climbs up the rickety stairs.
She has lived here all her life, She would hear the squeals of joys that were hidden under it’s walls during her growing-up years, She had read thick volumes of books, escaping from the curious eyes, under its stairway lights. She would hear the echo of her frilly laughter trapped under the dark corners of its ceiling. She had loved it then.
But now, she wondered if she likes it anymore.
Her knees ache as she laboriously climbs each, high step, grasping for her breath, her knuckle turn white as they fold over the wooden rod, wrapping the segment of a long railing, always afraid that she might miss her fragile step.
But still, these seventeen feet by twenty feet is her mansion. She loves its fragrance and the warmth,a rough floor massages her soles under her bare feet. She walks fearlessly into her treasured space, stroking its strong, shaded walls that are stuffed with her smile and song, reverberating around her happy cubicle, intoxicating her dizzy spells.
“Oh dear! There is talk at those meeting these days. All they talk about is the redevelopment with claims that will kill all the pains.”
She moans as she stretches carefully on her cool, soft pillow.
A withering rose
A new, fresh, red bud, blooms
It was time for summer to go to sleep