stare out the window. remember the time she got you to pose for one of her paintings? how she told you how beautiful you were? how she made you feel pretty again for a little while? think how u miss her.
now it is waiting. and nobody cares. and when your wait is over, this room will still exist, and it will continue to hold shoes and dresses and boxes, and maybe someday another waiting person. and maybe not. the room doesn't care, either.
what was once before you, an exciting and mysterious future, is now behind you. lived, understood, disappointing. you realize you are not special. you have struggled into existence and are now slipping silently out of it. this is everyone's experience. every single one. the specifics hardly matter, everyone is everyone. so you are adele, hazel, claire, olive. you are ellen. all her meager sadnesses are yours. all her loneliness. the gray, straw-like hair. her red, raw hands. it's yours. it's time for you to understand this.
as the people who adore you stop adoring you, as they die, as they move on, as you shed them, as you shed your beauty, your youth...as the world forgets you, as you recognize your transience, as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one...as you learn there is no one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving. not coming from anyplace, not arriving anyplace. just driving, counting off time. now you are here. it's 7:43. now you are here. it's 7:44. now you are gone.