A Straight Edge

A flat wooden chopstick wrapper lay diagonally across the dark parquet, catching the pale morning light. I walked past the edge of the woven rug and stood beside it, listening to the quiet hum of the empty house. The paper was stiff and folded, angled awkwardly away from the grain. I knelt down slowly, bracing my plush hands against the smooth timber floor. Using the flat side of my boot, I nudged the clean paper sleeve an inch sideways until its longest fold aligned parallel with the baseboard seam. It sits straight now. The room feels balanced.