Lint

The blinds were slightly tilted downward from the back-end of its bend. The sun would glow with a subtle warm denseness that enveloped the empty space in an embrace. Specs of dust floated within and around the warm rays of the soft dim light. The wooden floor was completely clear of any objects and the walls were blank, not including only years worth dried paint. The days were shorter and colder, making those embraces fleeting. There was a woman who sat at the edge of one single piece of furniture that stood at the center of the room. Ankles crossed and arms outstretched behind her. Her face turned toward the window. There was hardly any emotion except for contemplation. More so the thoughts of simply, why. The answers were and weren't there, so why. The point was undone and made, so why. If it wasn't for the beating of a pulse, the ticking of any clock wouldn't really matter at all. What's the use of eyes without being able to see. What's the use of picking an apple from its tree.

    The day then meshed into night.