That scene again

The cursor is blinking there in the top left corner. I stare at it and feel what it feels like now. 

Like a cold room. Like the bland smell of new paint drying. Like white lace curtains hanging in the windows. Like a shotgun in the living room. Like an Easter morning suicide. While the others are away at church. The kids will discover the mess you made. It's so quiet here now. Witchcraft silence. Spells in the woodwork. Olde New England horror. Stifled. There's a scream locked inside of everything here. The red painted windows in the barn. The still spruce. Still sparse and cold and bruised. Everything aches here. Silence watches you suffer. All eyes and no feeling. 

Spring has been detained. It won't be coming this time. Not for you. 

That's a scene, but not my scene. A memory, a could have been. 

I'm just here now getting ready to go to work.