We are nearing thirty, cutting corners to save, hoping to one day have a place of our own.
Our scale of what’s ‘acceptable’ disintegrated over the years as we became more desperate, collecting housemates and depts like trophies along the way.
I find myself in a moment of clarity, cringing at the mould-green carpet chewed to bits by moths as I pile random items in the fridge together until it resembles an acceptable meal.
The cracks in the walls and stains in the paint are our only art and we pray the landlord remembers they were there before we were.
About the Creator
Obsidian Words
Fathomless is the mind full of stories.
Keep reading
More stories from Obsidian Words and writers in Poets and other communities.
- Runner-Up in Extraterrestrial Challenge
Comments (1)
This is the sad truth. It hit me so hard! Well done!