That photograph dusts in the attic’s gloom

That photograph dusts in the attic’s gloom,

a flicker of smiles, but the truth’s left bare,

years lost in the seams of a half-hearted room,

where the whispers of silence have taken their share.

I told you I was fine, just fine, you see,

but the shadows I cast never echoed the light,

now we laugh, but there’s weight in the glee,

with every glance, a lie still takes flight.