An echo passes faintly through the room.

2:06pm.

Our footfalls failed to echo, where the mightiest sounds of the house settling were the faintest of all sounds available. Pressed against the wall, attempting to avoid going further, we chose each room as if we would find our deaths in there. Anxiously we pushed doors open, but filled the room with only the nothingness I began to suspect were our fibers. Our combined weight equaled nothing. Our presences were memories here. We could see that now.












































Yours,
JARET.

We do not cast shadows.

8:44pm.

You've helped me across the floorboards, with your hand extended even when I could not feel it. You waited for me. It did feel like an age, but not physically. It felt like forever in memory. Our helplessness had begun to contaminate the limitlessness. With a doubtful sigh, we held our hands together and made the great leap from the threshold of a single empty and dust-filled room, on to the hall. And then we walked through the house.















Yours,
JARET.

Our fingerprints since dusted from the blinds.

12:35am.

The windowsill and the carpets are musty. But our skin will not collect the same dust. Far beyond the hall there are bedrooms we don't remember. And while we shake the curtains and watch the dust clouds rise, it's easy to remember feeling good, but we look at each other like it will always be just a memory.















Yours,
JARET.

Quietly in the house we wait.

2:58pm.

Something a little like what panic used to be creeps into our arms and eyes, but it's not panic at all. The truth is, we haven't been stirred so much lately. In what seems like an age.















Yours,
JARET.

Ant terrarium.

7:20am.





























Your friend,
JARET.

In single file line.

7:35am.

















Yours,
JARET.