It stares back. I know it does. The hole in the ceiling, which takes upstairs, where water had carved its way into the idea of efficiency.

It is not the compromised structure that frightens me, but the dread of what it holds.

Nevertheless, to say that the darkness accommodates itself in its vastness.

Unfortunate it is that once I've lost hours measuring.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

Once.

Twice.

From the wall to the hole, from the hole to the wall.

Up.

Down.

Then up again.

When I stared back, I then noticed.

There were no holes upstairs.