It was a house with secret passageways,
A garden with stepping-stones and walls of blossoms and endless trails of crunching brown leaves.

I was its lone wanderer
Its admirer
Bathing in its beauty
Flattering it with my intrigue.

When time takes too long,
Seconds grow to minutes.
Fascination faded,
Like the pigment of the picked petals between my fingertips.

The echo of my movements penetrate still air
My fluttering eyes stretch across the yard
Drawn for vanished companions.
Absorbed by empty.

My small feet flitter frantic steps,
As wrinkled eyebrows squeeze liquid
Down flushed cheeks.

I find one corner for waiting,
To hear each door creak,
For more loathed anticipation.

Crinkled in a ball
A soft patter raises my head
Soft, louder, louder, loud.