Can't See Out

I can't see across the street anymore.

The fog has taken it.

I woke up and the window was gone—

not the glass, but everything beyond it.

Everything dissolved into something gray and close.

I tried to check if the corner store was open.

I pressed my face to the cold.

Breathed on it.

Watched my breath disappear into the same nothing

that's swallowed everything else.

The streetlights are drowning out there.

Orange becoming pink becoming nothing.

Becoming a suggestion of light

that might not even be real.

Three days of this.

Three days of the world getting smaller.

Of the apartment walls moving closer.

Of the air inside becoming the same as the air outside—

thick, wet, impossible to see through.

I keep checking.

Keep pressing my forehead to the glass

like if I press hard enough

I can push through and find something on the other side.

But there's nothing.

Just more fog.

Just more gray.

Just me inside

and everything else dissolved.