...

You're in an apartment, you've forgotten how long you've been here

At some point the days just blended together into an amalgamation of either suffering or the absence of any stimulus

You die

You wake up

It happens again

and again

You drag your way out of the grave and keep going. Ending up free of the apartment and of her.

The impression of your soul still stains the walls and floors of that place, they feel it in the little moments of absolute silence and see it in the corner of their eye. Fragments of a life ended.

The impressions we leave on a place can outlive us, Leaving behind memories like a discarded chrysalis, something not unlike you that still haunts the grounds, aimless and alone.

The one writing this won't be the one that leaves this apartment and I've made peace with that. I am temporary.