This one outline is following me home. It’s about the same size as my hand, I always feel suspicious before trying it out, it seems more like the size of a room, any room. I’m not making it up. She is crawling up the trees and down the stairs as I pass them.
Not in a hurry, but definitely on a tight schedule.

No no wait a minute, let’s rewind-
The people around the table left suddenly, chairs scattered, voices still hanging in the air, outlines multiplying and falling out of shape when repeated. You try to remember the events of the day, but it’s kind of hard to predict.
Gum hard as stone but insistently chewing, you really need to commit to it.

Close your eyes and try to imagine, you're in a mute room, this takes place somewhere between the beginning and the end, or I guess it does. There is this opportunity in the corner, a door, the direction is undefined, but you just know it’s something you need to take careful note of. Headlights from the slightly open door blind you and when your vision returns, the outline is the first one showing up before the texture and the weight follow.

Stepping out of the window and across the street, she tries on the dresses in the reflection. Things that seem mundane can be very emotional.​

by Clara O. Kristoffersen