what if i woke up one day in a room with four white walls that had no pictures, postcards, or drawings hanging from them? and what if - on this day - i had no desire to hang up any such things? just a square room. a window for light, a lamp for night, a bed for sleeping, a closet for clothes. the essentials. what if my camera was covered in a thick layer of dust, put away on purpose somewhere in the attic? what if every instrument in this house was out of tune and showed no signs of ever being tuned again? what if i spent my days in silence because music meant very little to me? what if i skimmed through poetry and rolled my eyes? what if, when i looked at a piece of art, i thought nothing of it? what if i had no lists of books to read or films to watch??? what if i did math problems in my head until i fell asleep? what if the word “imagination” was just a word that reminded me of very young children? what if i had no desire to write each night before i slept? ??what if i thought covering my hands in doodles with a permanent marker was a stupid idea and didn’t understand how it could be fun? what if i didn’t dare to do the crazy things in life i sometimes do, like staying up for ridiculous amounts of time or shouting hilarious obscenities? what if i thought of absolutely nothing on long car/train rides, except for how far i had gone and how far i still had to go? what if i liked things to be logical, and always thought with my head instead of my heart??? what if i thought rain was a terrible nuisance and always had an umbrella on me? what if climbing trees was something i outgrew years back? what if the sun beaming on my shoulders meant nothing but the possibility of sun burn? what if the feeling i got from sitting outside at night could be described in four simple words? sitting. outside. at. night. what if that was it??? what would i be then? what could ever come next?