Tom Jozef - someone? | [Inspired Fiction] A Shadow Bent Over the Shoebox

Inspired Fiction

A Shadow Bent Over the Shoebox

Visualizing Solitude & Sound

someone?

Tom Jozef

I struck a match and let the flame settle on the wick, watching the wax pool unevenly over the rim of the cheap candle. The streetlamp outside casts a stretched silhouette of the half-empty moving boxes against the bare wall, throwing long, distorted shapes across the ceiling. I haven't unpacked the plates yet. The silence in this new room feels entirely different. It settles heavily only when you realize that the single shadow moving across the space belongs to you.

"It feels deeply strange to wear a garment that perfectly remembers a version of my body that no longer exists."

Yesterday, I pulled on the trousers you bought me last spring, the ones folded at the very bottom of the canvas bag. The waist gathered loosely under my belt, the hem dragging just enough to collect the small debris scattered across the floor. They don't fit me anymore. I step around the empty cigarette packs near the baseboard and the empty bottles on the low table. I don't pick them up. They just sit there. So do I.

Saying nothing at all

Sometimes I leave the porch light on, watching the faint glow spill down the concrete steps. I listen to the heavy boots of the upstairs neighbor, the brief pause on the landing, the jingle of keys that are not meant for my door. I find myself staring at the people passing by the convenience store window across the street, wondering what it would feel like if one of them simply stopped, walked over, and held my hand. Not to offer grand advice or promise that things will be alright. Just a firm, quiet grip in the middle of the alleyway. Saying nothing at all.

The morning sun eventually breaks through the gap in the curtains, drawing a thin, pale ray of light across the clutter on the floor. I only sit on the edge of the mattress, feeling entirely torn between the old place I left and this new one. The room gets lighter, exposing the scuff marks on the doorframe left by whoever lived here before me. I wonder if they, too, ever stood in this exact spot, closed in by the curtains, just waiting.

Makes me feel someone, too

I finally gathered the empty packs from the floor. Walking down to the recycling bin at the end of the alley, the morning air bit at my loose collar, but I didn't rush back inside. An elderly woman sweeping the front of the corner store paused to nod at me, her broom resting still against the asphalt for just a second. I nodded back. For a brief moment, standing there in the cold morning light, the acknowledgment made me feel like I was someone, too.

Footsteps lingering by the front gate

Damien Rice - "Delicate"

A quiet plea whispered into the empty corners of a new room, asking simply to be seen before the candle burns out.

Alela Diane - "White As Diamonds"

Like the pale morning light finally breaking through the curtains, exposing the quiet debris of yesterday that we must eventually gather.

Aisha Badru - "Bridges"

A hesitant step down the cold concrete stairs, slowly learning how to bridge the gap between a locked door and the rest of the alleyway.

Frightened Rabbit - "Poke"

A blunt, honest look at the trousers that no longer fit, quietly accepting the strange ache of a memory that has finally hollowed out.

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A Cinematic Soundscape Analysis