A place between surveillance and solitude.

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A place between surveillance and solitude.
This isn't just a photograph, it's the door to a familiar place we've, for some reason, never been. Cozy yet strangely unoccupied, as if everyone just left... or is yet to arrive.
Empty Room
Took only two months
For you to say to me
That you weren’t in love
But I knew that already
What I didn’t know was
That when the kids left
I’d be stuck in just three rooms
I got over you
But I couldn’t stomach it
Opening the doors made me cry
I drank and slept in a chair
Looming down the hall
With marks on the walls
From the crayons they loved
Were the rooms they grew up in
They said, “you’ll love England!”
Too depressed to be thinking
There wasn’t just one of them
It was majority of the house
First and second floors !
The play room
The living room
I closed my eyes
Every time I did laundry
Found a sock of treys
Nearly killed me
Wanted to grab the cutlery
Could give a fuck less
About you and your boyfriend
Took my two children
And left me to carry on
I didn’t even pack them up
When I was told I had to go
A friend did it as I cried alone
Those empty rooms still haunt me
Cause even now on the weeks
That they are not with me
I relieve those same days
At nights I still scream
I still drink
Trying to suppress
The worst memories
Unauthorized access. Footage preserved.
You are being observed. You are the observer.
You finally reached the executive suite. It has no furniture, the air is too thin, and the view is just the inside of your own head. Now what?
The camera sees what no one else does.
The timestamp is wrong. The place is real.