Room

time-box.

shadowy walls keep worries from leaking out.

like mom’s hands during peekaboo, but frozen in time protecting a face still shifting from earlier frowns.

alone in my room I pray for eternity,

prodding with my fingers, picking my fears out of a dish made of all the thoughts i had that day, that week.

in the warm blackness I sit with eyes open dreaming of an unfurnished living room where you pretend to place matching furniture you haven’t bought yet.

over zealous, and hasty, I pretend to feel your back against mine, hoping the pressure of my fantasies dont disturb you, the way they engulf me.

I rewrite messages sent to you earlier to be wittier or more sincere under hums by a relentless fan.

brown noise and black space

harbor shameless imagination

hide awkward self reflection

and painful reconciliation

I hurt, and heal, here.

I finally have the room to.

bigger than it is when lit, this room holds all the air of sorrowful sighs exhaled in moments of self deprecation, or worse, moments where I accepted thorned truths.

mysterious minutes In which I exorcise unclarity and exercise wishfulness

This room, casted in darkness, possesses the same dimensions of all potential futures handcrafted by hopefulness.

I would be here forever.

if only the night could be split evenly between the quiet awake and the quiet sleep.

both are sought after, and neither are gained.