THE HOUSE OF DECAY - an anecdote from the soul, metaphor.

 And I thought it would be the same. I thought it would all be just like before, but one matter is to lean on old memories in which everything was covered in tolerance, protection and joy and even a sense of unity, and another matter, utterly different, is to witness decay.

Many years had passed, and in those old days the morning sun would cast its light through the windows as if it was announcing a jolly "good morning" and the birds would perch onto the mango tree right outside, all singing like a morning choir. The rattle in the spacious kitchen was certainly not noise, but a sound that would wake you up alongside the aroma of recently brewed coffee, and just the thought of waking up to that scene would make, even the laziest soul, wake up in a rush just to experience the events that would take place right outside the bedroom.  

The kitchen was the heart of that house - just like many others, I'd presume - in which early morning visits would bring along a "good morning" and a joke here and there with anecdotes and stories that were gladly shared while sipping that longed delicious coffee made by the eldest woman in the house. In those old days, that house sang, it busted with life, energy and joy. Not that everything was perfect, but pretty much close to it. Those morning conversations flowed like fresh water warmed up by the morning sun and coffee of course. And the people inside that house, were glad in sharing what they had, not only am I referring to the material but also to their dreams, their humor but mostly their love, which was professed enthusiastically and sincerely, since it was basically the foundation of that house and the people in it. Those people were shining and there was always a sunny smile in their faces and nothing, and I mean nothing, could disturb that joy. But as I said, that was many years ago. 

Decay. I have already assume that word to be the perfect one because it possesses the meaning of what I am trying to convey. That house was crumbling as if it was a old piece of bread, with windows that framed a set of broken crystals, and walls cracked here and there by the tides of time. It is so old and fragile that you may throw a hit to a wall with little effort and, it is very likely you would draw a hole in the middle of it. The rooms covered in shadows and dust, do not even reflect the happiness that once occupied them, making it even much more incomprehensible to understand or at least to find an answer to the question why. All was basically rotten away like fruit and vegetables left abandoned and the house itself was like dead, no longer a beating heart, nothing more but debris, dirt and dust that danced the song of time.

The people inside were like walking shells of flesh and blood. Very little, if not nothing, is left behind of what they used to be. That sense of unity and brotherhood turned into selfishness and resentment which in the end filled every sense they had, to the point of leaving almost nothing. They were just surviving in a place and nothing else mattered but to fill their stomachs with whatever scrap of food they could find but not their souls, not their human spirits. The shadow that covered it all was thick  inside them and perhaps there was no return from that point. That shadow and that decay showed no mercy and no regrets, and its presence was strong that you could feel it and sense it. I could sense it, and it hurt as if was slowly carving your flesh with a cold knife and freezing your soul and spirits. And if you were careless, it would envelop you, converting you into a wraith, vacant and void. The spirit of that house was nothing but that, and that sadness was as if floating in the air constantly.

I remember that as soon as I walked inside that house, I could not even recognize it. It was unknown to my senses, it was surreal. I tried to find a familiar place inside it but to my dismay, I found none. I glanced around me just to find nothing, and only one word came up to my mind: decay. The house was dead, it was empty, deadly empty. I could not understand why or when it happened but my heart sank and it was filled up with sadness, disgust and hopelessness. I felt like a stranger inside a place that was not breathing and if it was, then it was reduced to a dying gasp and an unheard whisper. 

I did not last long inside the house, since neither my senses nor my soul could bear what I was witnessing and sensing. I decided to leave not so long after I had stepped in and I promised myself not to return to it, not to let myself slowly die away in the manner the house or them had. I was resolute in that affirmation since I consider that my soul is important and that I cannot let it be covered in shadows and bitterness. No. I certainly was affected by the state of the matter I saw with my own eyes and perceived with my soul. I acknowledge with great sadness that what once is no more and never will be, that all that once was, had already died and cannot be recovered.