objects not going

On Wednesday, a man from the moving company came in to the apartment to give an estimate on the shipping. In preparation for the estimate, I had labeled objects that were staying with yellow stickies saying not going. In this middle of the night, as I stumble about the room in a sleepless daze, the objects greet me with their message, and they stubbornly insist "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going," "not going,"

I imagine them in this new painting, holding back, floating in the air, staying in their place long after their owners have left and wandered through the shelves of this bizarre library, the background of the painting, the setting for the scene. Their owners are nowhere in sight. Seven empty aisles can be seen at once, presenting themselves as options and distorting the laws of perspective.