Most Likely to Make Herself Scarce
Stuck inside with no need to hide. Trapped in someone else's head, I've found a second home. My existence made evident by the way the floor creaks underneath me, the only real proof I'm still real. It's really happening. I'm getting used to living around you and I get the feeling that you know the room isn't empty when I'm in it. There's a lonely rhythm to the way we live now. It's still so strange to feel but not be seen. Eyes see you, but you can't see me. The sensation of disappearing, unforgettable. I watch as I am forgotten. I'm trying to get to know you better, but I've been ghosted.