The Fallen Forts

It was the time when I lost someone.

Someone close. As close that, 

A piece of heart is gladly torn away.

But the remains of it linger

on the walls and in the reflections.

I have grown up picking all the pebbles

of this fort that kept falling off to ground with age.

And I willfully started building mine

placing each picked up pebble right where

it mightttyl ngtttttttt have stood on the old fort.

My whole life, this was my ritual.

And when its time,

The old fort collapsed to the ground unannounced.

By then, I barely scratched the surface of its magnificience.

I was clueless, as in what to make out of it.

I was unaware that out of blue

I will have nothing but the traces of it.

I had questions. A lot of them.

How am I going to build the rest of my fort?

Not that I don't have any more pebbles,

But who will tell me where goes what?

Where to look at when I try to fit in the pieces?

And it got interesting when I questioned

Why do I even build the fort

knowing it will fall off one day?

Is it all an Illusion?

Illusion. As comforting as to find answers,

Each of us build these invisible forts called life.

Pebbles are the memories we make.

Some are bright, some gloomy

Some shady and some bring peace.

Yet every pebble sticks strong where it should.

It doesn't matter when or how the fort falls off

As long as it housed enough smiles

As long as it survived the storms

And as long as it stood strong.

Well, Thats convincing.

Now what happens to the pebbles of a fallen fort?

They find their new home.

Just like I picked other's and build mine.