#9

 When story ends and words stops to speak, might the silence become noise, unbearable and loud. A dark cloud does conquer the battle ground and sheds rains of flooding the streets of many home of memories, visiting each one of it until the edge arrives and its the time to leave.

This happens only when story ends and that too a beautiful one, the one that was believed to last forever. This misery is but a journey of new beginnings of break of dawn. The rains that leaves crossing the edge, shall find its peace in growing the soil with leaves. Another world will  it find, many different homes of memories that it touches.

When story does start, a beautiful one and a fulfilling one, might light touch the doors of the homes of memories making it open wide. Mirth does spread much in this journey through light and might a little rain grow green. Yet the rain that does come remembers the story that did end.

Its what we carry and what we intend to grow and what we grow matters, more than the houses of memories me built.