Wednesday's Ashes

Window open, on the couch, with the memories of a friend, who comes to me in ink. Curls my letters into writing and shapes the whiteness of the page, coloring pictures shaping my mind, of her walking with me somewhere, somewhere years ago - I can hear my neighbor's footsteps passing down below. My neighbor's gone now. Door closed, just a silence echoing night. Where are you I ask? Here, she replies. Too silent for me to hear. Silence words again, on pages that don't hear anymore. Where is she, I write, listen.