Every night
my room becomes slightly different.
Not enough to see
enough to feel.
The door closes softer
than I remember.
My chair faces the bed
though I never turned it.
And the celling fan
keeps spinning
after the switch is off.
I told myself
memory is unreliable.
But memory doesn\'t breathe.
Around 3:12 AM
the silence grows heavier,
like the air is waiting
for me to notice something.
So I pretend to sleep.
Because the moment
I open my eyes too long
I feel it
The room
watching back.
Not haunted.
Not alive.
Just aware
that I am inside it.
Yesterday
my phone lit up
with no notification.
Only my gallery open.
A photo I never took:
Me sleeping.
From the corner
near the ceiling.
I deleted it.
Tonight
the corner feels closer.
I understand now.
The room isn\'t changing.