I walk through this house. It is so quiet but occassionally I hear echoes. Moments that move through conciousness. Am I awake?
Voices whisper and colors fade in and out of my vision. I stop, feeling something missing, can almost see it, and then it fades into the shadows of the room.
Bright of the sun has no meaning in this place. The room fades and brightens by a different source. I remember flowers. And soft grass. And whispers of a lullaby.
I walk. Old promises hide in corners, old fears, old joys. A door causes immense fear for no reason. I cannot move.

Do you remember?

My hand curls upon the air, as if grasping for something no longer there. What?
The breeze rustles through the open window. On the floor, a few leaves have scattered. A ring rests in the center as if thrown.

Do you remember?

Tears of dreams flow from my eyes and curl around my shoulders. They live there whispering.

Flowers whose pedals have fallen ran red but have now darkened. I touch them and remember that single rose brushing my shoulder on the stair.

Were you ever here?

I clutch the rose to my breast and walk around the corner. Above is another floor, the sunlight filtering down upon the floor marking it golden. A shadow stirs and a boy stands there. His eyes are dark.

No entrance.

It is too quiet in this house.