I Have No Memory Of This Place

ImageThis morning I awoke to find myself in a new place. Or perhaps and old one since it seems ‘broken in’. On the dresser next to the bed there is a book with a cell phone shoved in to mark a page. Almost as if the person was reading late into the night and got so tired they grabbed the first thing their hands touched. Drawers are left ajar, same with boxes, as if the person who opened them needs not to worry about someone else seeing the contents or running into them. My eye leaves the immediate area and focuses out into the rest of the room where one of two book shelves traps my attention. I arise to look at the books. The shelf is filled with fiction books, mainly dividing into either the fantasy/science fiction genre or mystery. Whoever belongs here spends a great deal of time being somewhere else (mentally). Above the shelf is a ‘wrought iron’ inspired rod that coordinates both with the bed and other pieces scattered about the room, as if the person who lives here likes the classics. However the black tie with lime green polka dots hint as something more. Clearly there is a person who lives here that has multiple fascinations (sketchbook on the bedside dresser filled with half completed sketches and a notebook filled with indecipherable half notes).

Fun prompt today that is quite timely. Just yesterday I rearranged the apartment so somethings are in my room that weren’t in there before, like my second book shelf and computer. To be honest the redecorating began Friday night and still isn’t done. Mainly because I’m easily distracted and not the most diligent. A lazy weekend of slowly moving stuff is what I’ve doomed myself to, but it’s such a bast!


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