Polysemic. Mutable. Contingent.
These three words were the first words I mentally recited in my mind this morning. I was looking for our broom, you see.
The floor needs sweeping.
I’ve been absent-mindedly looking for it for three days now. It seems to have vanished. Not that those three words have anything to do with the missing broom. But silently humming them while I search every corner of the flat made the chore less annoying.
It doesn’t make sense does it? The words I mean. Why such strange words would comfort me. Well so does the missing broom! It doesn’t make sense for it to hide itself. If this is a game of hide-and-seek, that plastic thing is winning.
The room feels abandoned without it.