White Room

A single fluorescent light bulb rules over the white room. It's preferable to watch the walls than to let your eyes drop on the piles on the floor. Two chairs play the role of bedsides or hangers, whatever the situation. Jars full of change await their turn. The DVD boxes  brace one another. The rug is blue and it's barely visible.
While I lay on my back in the fluffy cloud - blue, but mostly white - the vertical lines of the curtain start moving. I look away, but look to the right, where an acid trip is perfectly illustrated: the green curtain is covered in red spots through which, even at night time, light seems to be passing. I lay there silently for more than half an hour, after which I start to lose control over my body and conscience. The orange curtain's stripes play tricks on my perception. Music underlines words like 'world', ' yours', 'devoured', the back of my neck seems to get deeper and deeper into the blanket.
Randomly,  you're telling me about how this song always makes you think of me - the one without a future, the undefined being, I say to myself -, and my right knee touches your leg, while it keeps a beat. I wish we talked more, but there's never enough will for this. I fall asleep.

Straight shadows, stern shadows decompose to form other curly shadows on these white, empty walls.