Light held nothing.

Then less.

The figure

was it

e v e r   t h e r e ?

Room

a

s

k

e

w

color—

where walls

weren’t.

Darkness

counted

to three,

then settled.

Feet planted.

Yet in two   places

at once.

U n t e t h e r e d.

The hollow

came first.

He came

second.

A chair

misplaced.

A memory—

wrong by two inches.

The floor lagged

half a second

behind his foot.

He saw nothing

yet something

forgot

to stay—

unseen.

A shimmer—

where walls

shouldn't hold shape.

Sight stalled—

at the soft perimeter.

Stillness

he knew—

the way bone

knows its marrow,

the way absence

knows its shape.

Her name.

What entered

his eyes

departed—

his knowing.

A room

left open—

wallpaper half-peeled.

The smell of crayons,

into a doorway

with pockets,

full of scents.

A sneeze—

still considering.

Thumb at temple.

Pressure met pressure.

Hands—

clean moments ago,

now caked—

in cold mud.

Breath aligned,

counted to three—

and failed.

Ankle folded.

Then—

D

o

w

n

and

d

o

w

n

Not him,

...the boy he was.

No—

the boy he is

when falling

d

o

w

n

.

T h e

g

r

e

e

n

s

o

u

n

d

o

f

grass...

music—

the color

of late sun.

s

w

i

r

l

i

n

g

r

i

d

e

s

moving as one.

Yet the arrival

does not fit

how it holds him.

He finds himself

already seated,

behind the moment

that is him.

A subtle

sweetness

presses

on taste.

Tufts of clouds

drift above—

spinning a song

out of reach.

One horse caught

between gallop

and Stillness.

Paint yielding

into thought.

Brushstroke easing

into past.

Warmth

of old drawings—

stripping away.

Blue...

lingers—

still.

And all that remains

is here.

A carousel swing,

form turns

from the world—

circling

the time-worn puzzle,

the shape

his touch

traces—

in dreams.

Her silhouette

holds still—

her back

turned toward him.

The space

between them

s t r e t c h e s.

Remember...

the word

Stayed behind—

hallways bent inward—

folding like pages

abandoned mid-turn.

Angles conspired.

Light lingered low,

tracing the narrowing path—

until it marked—

its own end.

Then there he saw—

a shadow was,

but not quite.

Not fitting the furniture

nor fully vanishing.

Glimpsed,

then gone,

refusing

the straight look.

A motion

not yet named.

Wordless,

the shape conveyed volumes.

While he wondered...

The shape withdrew.

He skidded backward—

feet betrayed him

and tripped over—

his own shoelaces.

The shape

had already slipped free—

again.

He waited

until flesh

matched

what marrow

knew.

Toward the door,

he drifted slowly.

Shoulder

found the doorframe—

palm,

then hip.

It parted

without farewell.

Air

rushed in.

Cold

grazed his cheek.

His feet

found gravel.

Grass.

Then pavement.

Pebbles

grinning in moonlight.

Behind—

the house curled back

into darkness.

Each surface

a small return

to what the world

agreed was Real.

He stopped at a corner.

The dirt on his jeans—

from a place

that would not wash away.

Footfalls

echoed

what came before.

The diary’s presence

still there.

Back where he began,

A streetlamp wavered.

He passed beneath it,

eyes lowered,

knowing its glow

would remain.

A place

she named once.

The sidewalk

held the moment longer

than he did.

Far past where the moment

had expected him.

The tree in the yard

held its branches flat.

Only outline,

no shelter.

The sky

inky black.

He walked

the same five steps

twice.

The key

had already turned.

The door frame held

more than just the door—