At the End

The party is over,
The guests have left.
A smile, a joke, a friendly comment…
And then she closed the door quietly.
She turns around and leans tiresomely at the wooden door.
She stares at the floor and sighs.
The party is over.
The friends are gone.
The laughter mopped away along with the plastic plates,
Plastic cups, forks, and colorful balloons.
The party is over.
She will now take off her tight, so very uncomfortable sexy dress.
She will slip into some old slippers with faded colors.
She will undo her hair.
She will wash off all the makeup.
She will sit on the old cozy sofa for some TV before going to bed.
The party is over,
And the guests are gone.
She lies on her bed,
Still dressed, with full makeup and a stylish hairdo.
She looks around her empty bedroom;
She knows time will come to face it.
As she gazes fearfully at the walls, the ceiling,
And the small tables scattered around,
She cries.
A tear, a hurt, a refusal, and a burning sensation.
And then, another tear;
She squeezes the pillow so tight…
Harder and harder.
She cries.
The party is over.
She looks upon her room,
Upon her life,
Upon herself.
And she squeezes the pillow some more.
She waits for the teardrops to dry,
She organizes her bed tidily and stands up.
She notices some pieces of her heart dispersed wildly.
She pushes them under her tidy pillow,
And calls after her aging soul
To clean up this mess.
After all, the party is over.