An apartment for 555 a month. Heat and water included, electricity at my cost. Fully furnished with help from foreign funds. A bed at 320, a dinning set at 50 and a couch at 60. What a steal! What a nice way to start off a new life.
An apartment big enough for two, occupied by one and at times by none. Four chairs, all empty except mine. A dining set ready for parties, families and friends is used for empty space, old newspapers and 3 pound weights. No plates are served and none are cleared after breakfast, lunch or dinner.
An apartment echoes in silence. There is laughter, there is cheer but none comes from here. There is a loveseat that sits near the door, shaded by the unlit lamp with two bulbs and one cone. There is a loveseat in the living room but it holds no love and there is none in the room. There is a loveseat filled with comfort and warmth in the memories of the owner of such home.
An apartment big enough and full enough for life is filled with spaces, which are filled with furniture, which are filled with silence. An apartment big enough for family is empty enough for one. For one who sits by the 40 dollar desk, writing up memories and sending endless texts; using one chair from the dining set while the rest of the apartment lays in darkness.
An apartment too big for one becomes home to sadness. In a room with a full size bed there is enough space for her and the voices in her head. In a place where the cold is colder and the sun is not always warmer there is space for wandering.
An apartment at 555. Fully furnished. Is always empty. When it’s filled with no memories.
signing off, TWS