I have dreams of this place. Dark ones. It holds a weight on me that can’t be shaken off, it hurts, I see a deserted field with no other life in sight, nature had given up and left its place in the world giving us nothing but stone cold ash from the remains of what we used to call food who knew ash could turn cold? this place holds a gravitational pull on me that I can’t tug away from no matter how hard I try, it pulls at the strings of my heart controlling me like a ventriloquist pulling at every nerve in my body,until one day I might just break. The distant blur of a house grabs my mind almost mimicking my own , except it’s old with no character left inside it as if someone has taken a vacuum and drained the life out of it, inside sits a rocking chair at an empty fireplace just isolated emitting a raw sense of decay with no owner to claim it .But that’s the scary part. This chair, it has no owner yet it continues to rock the same rhythm from perhaps decades, all life is dead but this sole object continues to live amongst its deafening sound,keeping that same rhythm in a continuous cycle that engraves in my memory, and I can’t take it any longer.