The orange door

The far left corner of the house, in an awkward excuse for a room, with purple walls that have all but lost their color is where I spend most of my time at home.

We keep the computer there, next to the glossy blue door that never seems to get dirty. I keep this door open and often the orange rays of the sun will hide the purple of the walls. The PC is black but dust covered with some keys showing clear sign of frequent use- the absence of white letters on them and a silk smooth reflection of any light.

I have an urge to put my head on the flimsy dark wood and figure out what I’m going to do. I should start writing a journalism article, but I want to draw something too. The green walls outside seen yellow, it must be the light. Across the street, the blue house with white outlines surrounding every point of entry is empty despite being open. I feel weird sitting down not doing anything.

Both my orange kittens are fast asleep, breathing in air as fast as they could. I felt lethargic by comparison. The sky wasn’t as grey as it was in the afternoon. I wondered if time had decided to move backwards from this point on. I decided to start working on something before time ended at its beginning.

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