to mold

things are either rotting or growing.

when i walked into the room after a long break of cakes and ice cream and sofa-sitting and knitting, there were splotches of black and furry green all over the walls. the bags that hung behind the door. the pictures that i lived in. even buddha's thanka head was disfigured into an un-contained black circle.

the room was breathing.

it's good to know that i live in organic matter. that things can grow on things. and things live on things until we spray bleach all over everything.

i breathed fumes for a good week.

and then i smelled mold in every corner. every crevice. in his hair. her clothes. in the food. in the fridge. in the books. the air outside.

to mold, to have a extra layer of fuzz, to be green, then black, to reproduce.