I wear an antique slip and wait for Easter

I will torch the little house that is my soul.
I will burn it down.
So that when I am tempted to visit those rooms
where are the reminders,
of he who said he loved me...
I will find no trace of solid matter there,
with which to pine.

Only piles of ashes.

And I will draw a cross upon my forehead.

For until all these memories
are carried to the wind,
Easter,
for my wanting,
never comes.

"Memories are just dead men making trouble."
~Gabriel Garcia Marquez~
~The General in his Labyrinth~