Falling Silent

She is standing in front of the window, half behind the curtain.
Glancing, without happiness or hope,
as she is expecting someone she knows never appears.

I thought the rural surroundings would do her well.
That the small signs of spring, which every year makes her so light-hearted, would bring her back.

- But every pleasant sound, every trembling anticipation; every memory of a flirtation, loving touch and sweetness, have fallen silent.

“Nala?”

She twitches, and turns reluctantly; her eyes without lustre.
“Yes?”

I crumble.
“No. It was nothing.”
I can hear an echo of my voice. I turn and leave the room ... alone.

Written in response to "Not at Home" by Robert Graves