The Pillow Remembered Upward

The pillow rises where sleep should have pressed it down. Its cotton gathers around an empty mound, holding the shape of weight without a body. The rest of the room stays factual: worn wood, a yellow cup, rose cloth, late light. Nothing floats and nothing opens. Only pressure has changed direction. The bed becomes a record of someone absent, not through an indentation, but through matter quietly returning the sleeper’s weight toward the room.