The Dusty Attic

By Aarohi Shah

Today, 

I visited the quiet attic in my brain. 

The one which was forbidden, 

Yet not forgotten. 

It had gone dusty, 

Under the covers. 

Brand new me, 

But the same old fears. 

Ignored, 

Yet they rested. 

In the deepest darkest corners, 

Where not a thought lingered. 

Still,Before every choice,Before the tiniest risk,It returns—At the edge of thought, 

A shadow. 

A whisper, 

On how it could all go wrong. 

A replay of experiences, 

Where I jog down memory lane. 

A reminder, 

Of all the pain. 

But then, 

I close the attic door. 

Nothing more to explore. 

It’s better to keep it covered, 

Tucked in safely. 

Time to leave it alone, 

While I return back to reality. 

Invisible threads still bind me, 

Silent chains I cannot see.

The attic, 

Untouched. 

The dust, 

Where light cannot reach. 

No visitors, 

For the attic. 

Its locked, 

But, 

There’s a quiet echo in the room.

By Aarohi Shah