The Empty Room

The room had no colour.

Or perhaps it had forgotten it.

Everything was the same impossible shade, living somewhere between light and memory.

Not bright.
Not dark.
Just…
There.

The sort of place that existed before someone decided the world should have edges.

There was no ceiling.
No floor.
At least, not one I could ever convince myself existed.

And yet…

When I sat down…
Something always caught me.

As though the room refused to let anyone fall.

The walls were smooth.
Unbroken.
Empty.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

The room had always been kinder to me than I had been to myself.