The Sentence in the Draft Folder

September sixth. The prints have been leaning against the kitchen wall for three weeks. Not propped dramatically, not forgotten, just leaning, the way something leans when you haven't decided what to do with it yet and the not-deciding doesn't feel urgent enough to force.

I wrote one sentence about it yesterday and put it in the draft folder. The sentence said something like: the two prints are in the apartment now, and I have not placed them, and I think that might be the answer. Which is either a conclusion or a postponement, and I'm not sure which, and the draft folder seems to be the right place for that kind of uncertainty.

Another moment

The cord on the windowsill took about two months to find its place, and I'm not sure I chose it so much as stopped working around it. The collapsed bowl moved to the shelf above the stove in September 2017 and I left a gap on the windowsill on purpose, and eventually the gap became the sixth object. The prints are newer and I don't know yet if they want to be part of the arrangement or apart from it or somewhere the arrangement doesn't reach.

Another moment

The draft-folder sentence is still there. It's been there long enough that it might know something I don't yet. I've learned not to hurry that.