White Walls

How long have I been here, in-between the seconds, waiting?



Has it been days? Hours? Years?

I can’t remember. Maybe

I just got here, and I’m waiting for something?

A phone call?



Someone?



Anyone?

All I can see is white, the subtle egg-shell white that calms you at first, but

the more you stare… It’s more like a nervousness that won’t go away, an anxiety that has no end.



What is this place I am trapped in? Am I really trapped?



Have I ever tried to leave, and if I did, what is like?



There is no door, just walls. The longer I am here, the

more I feel out of place… Like my presence here is wrong. Everything is wrong.

I need to close my eyes to make the creeping feelings of the white go away, but sometimes it doesn’t work.





Because I can feel it there,



just outside the thin layer of skin that makes my eye lids,



I can feel it there. Waiting. Waiting for me to open my eyes and let it in.

You ever know you’ve lost something, but just can’t remember what it is? Like the feeling that something is wrong and you just can’t remember what?



The more I look at the walls,

the more this feeling grows. It grows and grows until the only thing I can see or think is…



White.



Walls.



  Then I am shocked back to whatever state of mind I have, when I realize for a split second, that I've blinked.

How much time passed while I looked into the white and it looked into me?



How much time is in-between the seconds that nobody cares to notice?

Author's Note

Critique and comment.