it seems so small
I think, at least, that it must be narrowing
though, I wouldn't assume to really know
the rooms are empty now
even still, it does not feel bare
if anything,
it feels as if it's still trying to eject its contents
even though it's only us
me and you along with the
lingering paint fumes of our efforts
our echoing presence dims
making the space brighter
the time drags, but we feel its insistence
pulling at our feet,
and, when we finally leave,
we bring it with us

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