📸 by yaodong che at Pexels
The feeling changed. So the room had to. I didn’t ask. I didn’t write it down. I just dragged the chair and let the wall flinch. There’s something about the way I can’t leave a painting hung if the memory it was hung for has rotted behind it. They say: it’s only a chair. Only a table. Only the past. But I know what furniture does when it’s made to hold silence. I refuse to keep the layout that made me forget how to speak. I won’t call it warmth just because it stayed. He said he kept the dresser because it’s the only thing that’s stayed the same in ten years. And I almost said how lonely that must be for the dresser. But instead I moved the rug. And the floor gave me a new thought.
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Echo File 🏁
Touch the threshold with your foot before stepping in.
Name the corner you avoid.
Say, “It’s not the room that changed—
it’s what I could no longer sit with.”