A Layer of Dust

She was there lying on the bed sleeping, drifting far away, seeing herself years earlier; the time in which she and her beloved used to sit at the table.
At those times the table was of utmost importance to her, the table and the food. They were contented to have that food to eat. They used to sit opposite each other, stare at one another and pass the most luscious smiles and stick to their chairs for hours and hours as her beloved would chomp his food all through dinner at the table. She reveled in hearing the noise that came from his mouth, not worrying about tomorrow, not even contemplating their relationship and the possibilities looming over the horizon.
She turned her eyes from that lovely scene to the left, beyond the boundaries of that house to the street outside, and saw a father dragging his son as the son kept weeping and shouting for freedom as if he was imprisoned in a jail and wanted to be free; away from the boundaries and limitations, but the father surely overpowered his resistance.She admired his resistance but regreted not being like others with two feet and hands and not being able to set him free.
In vain, she turned back her sight towards that couple but didn't see them at that table. The table was there but was dilapidated with a layer of dust covering its surface.