Dislocation

The apartment is covered in dust from shattered plaster and

broken glass.

I grabbed what I could carry before running downstairs. Rooms

remain standing, yet no longer feel inhabitable. Objects stay where they were left, suspended between use and abandonment, as though life itself had only been temporarily interrupted.

Nothing had fully disappeared. Streets stayed familiar. Yet

everything existed in suspension, waiting for a return that never fully arrived. The smell of dust and silence filled the rooms, as though the future itself had been indefinitely postponed.

Nothing fully ended, yet nothing was able to begin.