⿻ I have no sense of where I am. Just a little white room. ⿻ Just a little white room. With a bed, for sleeping I hope. It would be a shame if I was using it wrong. ⿻ Just a little white room with stars. The ceiling is painted to imitate the sky. I’m supposed to believe the stars glow in the dark, but on the rare occasion ⿻ I behold such things, I can’t determine if it’s only my imagination. ⿻ Just a little white room with paintings. Wall paintings. In frames. Several featuring a princess. Sitting on a bed like me. Only her bed is many beds. They were stacked, you see. So many beds she needed a ladder to get to the top one. But the strange catch was the little green eye I spot under the lowest mattress. I’ve often wondered if it’s for me. My mother had green eyes. I’m not sure what mine are. ⿻ Just a little white room with a door. It’s locked. I don’t believe I have the key, but I have no wish to exit through the door. On occasion, I hear people on the other side. Bustling, busy, important people. I’d hate to get in their way. I’d hate to be spoken to. ⿻ Just a little white room with a window, the pane dripping with greenery from outside. I miss outside. ⿻ So I suppose I do have some sense of where I am. ⿻ I am in a little white room. On a bed. Watching the stars and the paintings, listening to the people. Just a little white room in which I am not sure I feel comfortable.
