— xxxviii · black

black

a room of unread ink

every sentence that was ever written in this room is still here. the room has been filled to capacity with them, and then sealed. none of them are above the silt.

to read, drag a light across. to recover, see white. to go further, see deepest, or the basement, or stand a moment in midnight.

sometimes a candle is left here. it is rarely relit. ash remembers everything the room forgot.

palimpsest
atlas · return