The Comfort Experiments

Inside the glass walls, the mountains wait in silence while we move like careful puppets. A chair leans on a table that leans on a loaf of bread; reflections fracture our bodies into uneasy prisms. Leather kisses skin, metal scratches the air, and the fire burns without heat. We are seated in abundance, yet our hands tremble around invisible debts. The green roof presses down like a question with no answer, and each polished surface whispers: you are complicit, you are luxurious, you are nothing. Comfort becomes a stage for ritualized guilt; beauty curves around the body like a cage, each sigh weighed in invisible coins.