The apartment above me had been empty for over six months, but now there is life again. A kind of life I would not like to attend to, the rock-hard sound of drilling, chopping and breaking.
The house is now being renovated. The traces of the life that lived there are slowly being erased. The footsteps in the house that are dying away. Footsteps, still wandering through the house like ghosts.
The builders see only the construction. They do not see the lost desires and not the unrequited loves and not the rising doubts. The life that lived there saw the dead words on each other’s lips of perhaps unspoken desires.
The voices of those who lived there dissolved like vibrations in the surrounding walls. The bedroom where dreams were dreamed and love was made. The vanished sounds of children’s voices. The financial worries that have sunk into the broken away floor.
Gone is the rush in the morning to get to work on time. Gone are the kitchen where delicious recipes were turned into meals, eaten in silence and by candlelight. Gone is the living room where daily things were talked through and attempts were made to touch the future.
Now the house is empty. The walls are bleak and bare. Nothing recalls the life that was lived in it. Rigorous progress has replaced it, temporarily. The house is again being prepared for the next…
