without warning I'm rushed to leave my home by forces I don't understand. it all happens very fast. the walls fold out into empty plains before I look up from my phone. I sit in the grey, scrolling for places to go. squatters with bad teeth in windowless mansions, ghosts in rooms on your old street. my life slides neat into a suitcase just big enough to wrap myself in. I drag everything I own to foreign doors to find a home.
when I wake to yawns I'm running late for someone else's birthday. forfeit folding and the shower to find my suitcase stolen. I spiral in the hallway under epics on the ceiling. painted angels watch me weep. the loss feels monumental: anthology of scribbles, second-hand synthetics, every book I never read, my silver swan and armour, a mood ring. I cry by the piano for myself and nothing else.
the sky is grey and dry in the morning. I count the pictures on the wall until they matter less.
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