카테고리 Reflections

Just Watching the Light Move

I didn’t plan to sit there that long. I was just on the floor, kind of half-looking at my phone, not really scrolling. I don’t even remember what I was checking. I noticed the light on the floor—it had shifted since earlier. It moved from the edge of the bookshelf to part of the rug. I kept looking at it for a while, I guess.

I hadn’t done the laundry. There was still a cup on the windowsill. The room wasn’t clean, but I wasn’t bothered. It was warm inside, and outside looked like late afternoon. You know that kind of light that doesn’t really shine—it just lands? That.

At one point I thought about folding clothes. Or maybe washing a few dishes. But I didn’t. I kept thinking I should stand up but just didn’t. There wasn’t a reason, really. My brain was quiet. Not empty, just… not full either.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I remembered writing something kind of similar last week. About a day when nothing happened, but it still stuck around. I didn’t re-read it, but it was this one—I think.

I don’t know if that’s why I noticed the light this time, or if I would’ve noticed it anyway. It moved again a few minutes later. I didn’t get up. I just sat and looked at it.

Everything else stayed the same. The mess, the sound of a car outside, something ticking.

I didn’t do anything with the moment. But I still remember it. Which is strange. Or not. I don’t know.

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.