You linger in every room you enter
quietly begging someone to open the fucking door because you’re too busy trying to stand up straight to realize it’s been unlocked this whole time.
Wind from a different time seeps under the cracks but you can’t quite feel it, you still have on a coat from last season.
Maybe if you don’t move no one will realize that much like your wardrobe the desire to be present has expired.
It’s a beautiful day when your main objective isn’t to maintaining your composure long enough to make it home.
Even there- tucked into yourself you’re reminded of how small you are. A field mouse constantly caught in the beginning stages of a thunderstorm, too far from home to wave for help. From this distance they think you’re dancing. Maybe you are, you have nothing better to do than wait for the rain to pass.
