(no subject)
He sits in the room alone. It's way too big now. What comfortably housed many seems daunting, that much more space to be left empty, taunting and teasing him. Scattered remains of better times litter the floor like wounded soldiers on the battlefield, every one of them evoking memories of livelier events. The bed in the corner, with all its crumpled sheets, empty again, devoid of the passion it once held. Unlike the room, it had been much too small to fit another within its confines, but he stirs at night, reaching out and feeling the lack of a figure curled up next to him, the lack of the figure's warmth spreading to and through his body like a perfume, intoxicating his sense of touch. Looking out the window he expects to see that familiar blue stretch on into its familiar forever, but instead sees only the enveloping clouds. Their dirty white is the perfect shade to match the dirty white of his walls, and it merely creates an extension of his prison, and rather than seeing that little blue bit of hope on the outside of his emptiness, there is only more space to fill.