The Perfect Space.

I want this wall I'm leaning against to crack open so I can crawl into it. So I can slip between its crumbly, concrete ends. And I want to live there. Frozen in a moment. To be forgotten. And then one day, after those I've known have left, I will slip out surreptitiously, exhaling the dusty cinder-block, perhaps a little gray, perhaps a little crumbly. It will be a new world. Perhaps I will not fit in. Perhaps I will not belong.