#134

the doorknob isn't shiny and doesn't turn easily, but finally it clicks, letting the door open, slowly, and all that enters the house is a bit of gray light and the tips of my fingers. it is a still day.
it feels a little like walking on the moon, entering the foyer, and i'm afraid my footprints will be etched into the floor forever. it is strange, no one has been here in years, but they say that dust is mostly hair and skin particles, and i realize there are parts of me everywhere, on the subway i rode yesterday, on orange i picked up but didn't buy.
for a moment i feel panic. my tongue is dry. i put a mint in my mouth and it's a little unsettling- everything today has been so empty, so dull, and the sudden shock of spearmint feels like falling into an ice bath.
suddenly i want to tear this house down. it's alarming, how passionate i feel about somewhere i've never been. but he was here and now i am here, staring at my own face in a broken hallway mirror and wondering why i'm here.