Patient Signs

A map landed among receipts, bottle tops and lost buttons, where every discarded thing insisted it had once been essential. Through a window, a child was teaching rain how to fall upwards. Through another, a wall was patiently remembering the face it had misplaced years before. Nobody seemed surprised. Memory had stopped asking permission to borrow the shapes of ordinary things. Later, someone found a key with no door attached. They carried it for miles until it became a question instead of an object. The question opened quietly, revealing a room that had always existed inside the space between two unrelated thoughts. There, everything resembled something else, and nothing minded being mistaken for what it might yet become.