Love was a room. It was a room beginning with stark white walls and emptiness.

Every day yielded new memories for them, and every memory became a photo they tacked to the walls. They surrounded themselves in snapshots, and they were happy, even as photos stopped falling.

And one day, he was gone. And she was alone, in a room of horrible blurs of colors and thoughts. She wondered why he had left, wondered if he would come back, and she sat huddled in the middle of the floor. The comfort of having once loved suffocated her. She waited on.

The room became dark with aging polaroids. She knew long ago he had left for good, and she knew now that she had to leave as well.

Suddenly, the door shone like never before, and with shaking hands she forced open the door.

A warm rush of wind met her face and blew into the room, lifting the photographs from their place and carrying them like free birds. As she turned away from the fluttering tempest, she discovered that within the walls, he’d been as trapped as she was.