Residency in Börstingen - 14

Place lag- when a space still follows you even though you've left it.

The dark blue metal railings connecting to the floor made of grey and white stones.
The fine lines of spiders' webs in the window corners.
The faint sound of the wind in the building.
The smell of old wooden doors and paper. 
The sudden rainstorm that made the hill disappear into the fog.
The reddish shapes of light cast by a street lamp at night.
The silence of 4am broken only by moths.
The white highlights on thousands of sunlit trees at noon.
The sound of the minute hand unexpectedly moving forward by one centimetre.

 They are here. Like a sickness. But you are no longer there.
Like a parasite or a ghost who inhabits you and skews your perspective.