I get home at 6: 30.

The mother is sitting in the corner listening to the wind.

there is no love Here



The house is not full of warmth, it is cold.

Cold as a dead man's heart.

No sounds of laughing or excitement fill the air any more.

there is no love Here



There is no dinner cooking on the stove.

There is not a scent of spices or freshly cooked apple pie... anymore.

there is no love Here



The windows are sad.

From none of them hang curtains, yet none of them is open.

there is no love Here



From the floorboards grave moans are heard.

There are no lights on the ceiling.

Only one source of light comes from a small candle

burning in a never to be forgotten, locked bedroom, upstairs.

there is no love Here



there is no place for

ME

Here.