The room isn’t empty
There are items strewn about- clothes in piles and carefully chosen items with sentiment lining the walls
But she sits in the middle of the room on the floor unsure where to begin.
To decide for each item where home is. nothing in her fits in dresser drawers or bins under the sink.
She doesn’t want to chose, and yet somehow she chose so many times that she is here.
In the pursuit of what she wanted there is no momentum forward remaining.
A goal that took the last of her.
She was writing plans in blood and ignoring the fatigue
The last drops from her veins signing the lease.
Another short term place, another long term corner of the mind wound deeper and deeper.
She is all around, the color of the towels, the handwriting on the fridge,the silverwear in the drawer.
But as she walks the 4 blocks to ocean and looks out there is no swelling of the hearts tide.
No light beyond the mental doors, a whisper that she is still there waiting.
It is a cloud covered sky and a silver of the moons light, only a shade below the darkest night and where the moon rises from is indiscernible.
They ask her how it is. It- is fine, but she-is nowhere.