I think I could drown in one of those fluffy pink carpets. Like, you know, those carpets you would find in someone's house, tell yourself you're going to get one but never actually do.
Not exactly in an aggressive way or something, more like drowning slowly, face down, while the fibers get stuck in my mouth and I realize too late that I should've vacuumed first.
They're always so soft, like they're trying to compensate for something. Like if they stay pink enough, fluffy enough, no one will notice how cold the floor underneath actually is.
I lie on it sometimes and press my face into it, just to see if it presses back. I guess it never does (or maybe I simply don't notice). But it doesn’t leave marks on my skin, and that feels like enough.
Maybe this is what comfort is. Not exactly being held, just being allowed to exist near something soft.
I can picture myself melting into it, becoming part of the decor. A weird little stain people step over and politely ignore while murmuring a small "Careful, the carpet's delicate." I don't know when I started wanting to be something people tiptoe around instead of something they ask about. But here I am, trying to suffocate gently, hoping the carpet remembers me better than I remember myself.
I don't think a lot of people complain about carpets. Sure, about a crack in the floor or the edge of the table they hit their toes on, but I don't think it's ever the carpet. And I'm pretty okay with that, it sounds like enough to keep me feeling content.
After all, a carpet is not that important, just something to make the room feel less empty, the floor less slippery, or cover an imperfection. No one really notices its absence if they didn't know of its presence, but no one really minds it, I think. Okay, well, no one really misses something they didn't know they had before but whatever.
Also, carpets are pretty easy to replace. You spill something on one and suddenly, " We can just get a new one." Different color, different texture but same function. I tell myself I'm okay with that. That being replaceable sounds peaceful. No expectations. No pressure. No nothing, just silence.
But sometimes I catch myself wondering what stain would be big enough for someone to hesitate. What kind of damage would finally make them stop and say something like "Wait. That one looks important."
And I don't like how easily I can imagine myself apologizing for it.