It's impossible not to wonder, at this late hour on this late date, though wondering is bad stupid pointless.

What will happen to me in the next few days? What will happen to me in the next few hours? What what what what?

Context changes once again.

Will the passion that's been sucked from me for so long be suddenly free to linger, to motivate, to perhaps even inspire? Might I write again of the thoughts feelings impulses obsessions compulsions that continue to consume me?

Everyone on Earth, were you to poll them, would say that this is a good thing, this change. Everyone on Earth would be wrong, though. This is the worst thing.

It's empty now. None of my stuff remains, or hers, or ours. There's just a bed, more like a little cot, out in the middle of the living room. Something for the tenants after me or maybe even for the tenants yet to come. Furnished apartment, the ad could say, and it wouldn't be completely lying.

I hate liars, so I approve, I suppose.

I'd just been bored at home. Too bored all the time, so I came here to, I dunno, see smell feel the place. To see what it's like, to try to belong, or at least remember belonging.

My plan fails, though. My mind has failed. I only remember the emptiness that I see around me.

Places often seem so small when you return after a long absence, but this place echoes too much with its bare walls and its empty rooms. It seems huge.