The apartment was still. The dust long settled in. Comfortable. With everything in its place much as it was expected to be. So many things that bespoke the longstanding interests of the former occupants. The mismatch of furniture of all different vintages purchased in a variety of decades. The lineage of which being decipherable only within that haphazard collection of old family photographs. Albums chronicling holiday events with faces much younger than what general came to mind. All of them black and white and color grown old their subjects long gone. The lives remaining here undisturbed only by way of threes artifacts left exactly as they had always been. Deposed to an inflexible arrangement respectively upon the day of final passage of their owners. One could peer into the cabinets and tell that nothing had budged since those phantom hands had last left them within. What did they bespeak? Some stories of trips overseas to Europe and Colombia, and Hawaii and beyond. Golden anniversaries, wedding trinkets, glass figures that had weathered the many moves since the early years of marriage. Dolls that stared blankly unblinking untouched by age. Books with markers where the story was abruptly left. Dried up perfume bottles leaching subtle fragrances recalling presences past. Pills and other medications not fully expended. Each individual story faded with the absence of the proper teller to relate it. Scant evidence to betray the few goals achieved and yet so many more never ever in reach. Happiness and sadness. Inevitability of an approaching end. And the unexpected surprise of it coming to call sooner than one could have ever expected? The entire setting beyond the ability to summon sadness for these defeats. When the current offspring was dead and gone strangers would be unable to know or care. Just another collection of old things most of which would be discarded. More nuisance to the present world than treasure. Anything recovered would at best take on the significance of another new owner unknowing of what the previous one had imparted to it before. To take it all in for the last time as it was. That vast empty urn-fillable space that begged but a single familiar word to vindicate the existence of the place as it had been. Impossible. Just stillness. Quiet. Empty. Lost.
The Ongoing Rendezvous With Emptiness