they can't hear me
i'm too far underground, and the air is too dusty for noise
but i'm not sad
dusty musty
it's lukewarm down here
the wallpaper is beige and orange, with pretty stripedy things
i like pretty stripedy things
it's so grey
like the sepia pictures
so much dust
so much silence
like being the only one awake in a house full of sleeping people
they are sleep, curled up on the floorboards
in piles
in droves
a lot of bodies
metaphorically
really, i'm alone here
i can see a light out the window
it isn't synthetic
but it isn't natural
light from the old sun is filtering through the curtains
the coffee mugs in the cupboards are white and plastic and blue on the bottom
the sky is gone and far away and unreachable
what day is today?
i think it's sunday
it's a good day for a sunday
i haven't left this place, and the calendar sheets are all stale parchment now
what a pretty sunday it is
we'll go out and see the pictures this afternoon, ok?