we drive and drive driven by the excitement of renting an entire house walk into high white tin ceilings ornate with potential energy held in a opulent chandelier all of the tall ceilinged rooms would be ours to decorate but one a single room an Italianate cupola lowly lit with static energy and apricity we listen as the realtor describes an obscured story of a girl it’s not just us here this empty space is filled with a snared soul we don’t take the key