Friend's House.

Here in this toilet (I’ve been here before - see the 11th march), I’m seeing things differently; where before teal was, now is just light blue; obsidian, now a rough black gloss... a familiarity that dampens any excitement, dulls the thirst... I want to use the toilet and go. Nothing against it, it’s just a toilet now.
It’s warm in here, the radiator, radiates this small room with ease. I look around, looking within myself for those naive wide eyes, ones that playfully imagine...
I notice in the bath tub, on the white, a spider, an eight-legged silhouette. I suppose he’s stuck, because people say that spiders can’t get out of baths. That’s why we see them there, more often than other places. I’m alone, He’s alone, were not even in the same world, so it seems. Even sharing this bathroom, with this animal, we see each other, but we are nothing to each other. So I don’t help him out the bath. It wouldn’t seem right.