Nothing Really Happened, But I Remember It Anyway
It was maybe three, or just after. I wasn’t doing much.
I had a tab open. Not sure what I was going to write. Didn’t.
I sat there for longer than I meant to, hand still on the mouse, not moving it.
The screen went dark eventually. I didn’t bother touching it.
I think the window was open a little. Or maybe it wasn’t.
It felt like it should’ve been, though. The room had that kind of air.
Outside wasn’t loud. I don’t remember hearing anything. Maybe a bird. Or maybe I imagined it.
Someone might’ve passed by on a bike. The sound was there and then it wasn’t.
Could’ve been a truck in the distance. I didn’t look.
I didn’t put on music. Usually I would. Just didn’t feel like it.
Didn’t feel like anything, really.
I sat with my back kind of slouched and one sock half off.
The toast I made earlier was still on the table.
Cold. Probably stale by then. I didn’t eat it.
I just kept staring at that spot near the edge of the table where the wood has that scratch—
I don’t know when it got there. I’ve seen it a hundred times. But that day it looked different.
Was I thinking? Maybe. Can’t remember what.
It wasn’t like I felt peaceful or anything. I just… wasn’t trying.
Which was fine.
That part I do remember. That not-trying part.
That kind of stuck with me, I guess.