“I wait for the images to fade, listening for the sound of somebody’s presence, a movement from one of the rooms, a floorboard creaking upstairs. But there is only silence, and the dust of hopes never fulfilled, taunting me with what could have been, if only I’d acted differently.”

“I wait for the images to fade, listening for the sound of somebody’s presence, a movement from one of the rooms, a floorboard creaking upstairs. But there is only silence, and the dust of hopes never fulfilled, taunting me with what could have been, if only I’d acted differently.”

— B.A. Paris