Entry #322
The Witness Positions — Entry #322
The scratches stopped behaving like time and started behaving like places where someone chose to stand and keep watch.
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Entry #322
The scratches stopped behaving like time and started behaving like places where someone chose to stand and keep watch.
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Entry #321
In the chamber's layered scrawl I recognized a record kept by hands that did not breathe, and the room stopped being a secret and became a ledger.
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Entry #320
This afternoon I stepped toward the porch and arrived in the back hall, as if the house folded my walk and handed me back.
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Entry #319
The method shifts here: from proving to keeping, because the pen still moves and the paper still answers.
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Entry #318
I counted with the second hand until my tongue dried of the idea of air, and nothing in me asked for it.
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Entry #317
The wall found the hinge of my name and held a space for me to answer.
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Entry #316
I leaned out over the gutter and saw the hedge beheaded, the stone star-cracked, and a stain that refused to dry.
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Entry #315
Today the house eased its doors for me before I touched them, and I could not tell whether it was making room or taking me in.
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Entry #314
I made a list and treated myself like a specimen, and the numbers did not agree with the man I remember.
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Entry #313
The house answers in its own time now, and the rooms behave like agreements more than space.
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Entry #312
Whoever moved behind the lath paused where the floor always gives—as if by habit, not fear.
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Entry #311
From the porch the street read like a picture hung too close, cars moving across it without ever arriving anywhere.
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