No, not a house. A room.
It wouldn’t be a big room in a big house, but it’s big enough for us. We all eat here, sleep here, shit here.
We’re all children. There are no adults.
Are we brothers and sisters, children of the same parents? Is that why we’re all together in the same place? Sometimes it seems so. And sometimes it seems we’re strangers who’ve come from different places, and ended up here only by chance.
I'm the oldest, so they defer to me, as though I know more than they do. What I know is that, like Socrates, I know nothing.
There are other people here, in other rooms. Sometimes I hear them through the walls, and sometimes I see them in the halls. But we don’t speak to each other.
It’s not a house. It’s too big. It seems as big as the world.
It reminds me of a dream I once had.
I often dream I’m lost in a big building, or a big city. Once I dreamed the world was one big prison, and we’re both the prisoners and the guards. But this wasn't a dream. It was like those moments of clarity I used to have when I was a child.
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