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.