House of Panes
It is dusk.
I think back to the spectacular sunsets I viewed from a small kitchen window in my former, beloved home-sweet-home.
A tiny abode it was, compared to my current residence. No longer within a mere four wooden walls of plain aspect and diminutive scale, I now am lost in a seeming infinite architectural spread that reaches toward earth's four points, an edifice of four expansive levels that demand I walk, climb, explore every one of thousands of hidden nooks and crannies. I am compelled to do this but find no joy in discovery. I want to go back, go back to the simplicity of my earlier life. I cannot.
Through a multitude of panes, both large and small, I gaze upon Sol's last hurrah while I wander aimlessly about. It grows darker outdoors, The furtive, watery sun limps its pathetic course through the closing chapter of a gloomy and damp spring day. Its too brief, craven appearance created more shadow than illumination, and this tended toward my unease, prompting me to turn on each light of every room on all floors.
I am alone -- sometimes it is good to be alone -- but not at this time. This dwelling place of loss and loneliness holds me captive, and I want only to walk out the door and go home. I can never go back.
I have been locked up within. No one hears my cries for help. They are swallowed down whole by the grinning and cruel emptiness of an outwardly beautiful home that has no soul so has stolen mine.
No one hears my cries for help. They are growing fainter. I am silent while watching the sun sink deeper and deeper into an eternal night.
It is beautiful.