Writing Behind the Elevator

A game of tic-tac-toe underneath, devolved into nonsense partway through. I'm the ghost.

Blueprints. Open walls. Snow blows through the skeleton. Religion was here somewhere. This is where nobody laughed. All locked doors are open. Disassembled air machines aren't needed now.

They thank this place for its service to them. Hope to see you again soon. Haven't. Miss their rooms. Not the carpet. I know one name. She was here forever. Many just came. All just left. All locked doors are open. The cold air feels how I hoped it someday would.

A final secret through the last door. A path I haven't walked. Another roof. No ladder. Another room. All locked doors are open.

City lights and stars blur through the chill breeze. I found the end on the sixth floor of a five-storey building. The names signed behind the wall are the credits.