The place that she forgot

The+place+that+she+forgot

An apartment with nothing in it,

but she did not move in.

 

Nor did anyone move out;

it remained nothing,

yet something

all at the same time.

 

It was cold and alone,

and the cream walls with paint plasters reminded her of snowflake specks in the wintertime.

But still,

it appeared as a sunny place when the light hit the walls just right,

when the dust could be seen wafting up from the white-wicker blinds in the space above the wooden floor.

And she witnessed herself

witnessing the apartment

and the dust.

 

The space below,

however, never saw any light.

It was a damp and dark place full of things she tried not to think about

as she found herself laying down there in places in time she spent unwillingly elsewhere—

there.

 

Not a moment later,

she would find herself back in the comforts of her bed with the white comforter

staring at a clock that read 7:20.

 

But, without a moment’s notice or a sliver of hesitation,

the place she tried not to think about—

couldn’t remember to think about—

would pull her back under the blanket of floorboards.

 

Still, she came right back out;

she even checked the time to make sure,

reading the same numbers on the clock as she had seen in that moment.

 

Quickly, though, the moment quickly turned to a before.

And the space underneath the floor quickly became something she couldn’t recall.

And the clock read 7:50.

And she didn’t ask of it.