Looping in Between
You open your eyes.
The room is quiet. Familiar in the way that things are familiar
when you can't remember where you've seen them before.
You don't know how you got here —
an office, or a home, or something in between.
The walls hold their breath. The lights flicker.
You don't remember arriving.
But you have the feeling you've been here before.
There must be a way out.
There always is.