Patience

20th of January 2026.

I can write.

I am doing so, it just

doesn’t feel like there is much

worth writing about,

which obviously isn’t true.

I begin to imagine time

as strips of wallpaper,

but this doesn’t get me anywhere,

except the part of the image

that implies thinness

and the other that implies layers.

I try to stick with this

and think of wallpaper

lining the walls of a single room.

Here, again, words almost fail me,

because where am I going?

I think about this room

rotating in darkness,

something about free will

and fear, which feels

more elemental than hope

at this stage. I can write

and this is nothing

more than an exercise.