The Lobby of Unentered Space

The marble floor is cold. A small weight settles on the ceiling, a perfect circular patch of gray. It releases a scent, dust mixed with petrichor. I look toward the reception desk, a low slab of green granite. There is a photograph mounted on the wall, framed in tarnished brass. My face is faintly present in the image, a washed out exposure, barely distinguishable from the sepia tones of the background. I stand by the potted fern, its fronds yellow at the tips. A single desk lamp throws a pool of yellow light onto the chair opposite the desk. The chair cushion is blue velvet, slightly depressed. Someone waits for me, a steady warmth emanating from the empty air. I reach out a finger, testing the cold brass edge of the frame.