Minimalist Heart

He'd removed himself from the room because he knew that he upset the balance that existed therein. When he had asked the architect to design it he had not thought about what effect his presence would have upon the harmony of the design. It was so perfect that he wept, and he knew that his weeping was ugly and, like him, did not fit with the furniture and the tasteful pictures. So he excised himself. He only ever watched the room now: observed its sealed-unit habitat through the intrusive presence of the hidden cameras. He was like a spy in the Forbidden City and he felt ashamed every time he let his temptaion rule him. The clean lines and elegant use of space needed no messy thing like him there. No, he watched, but did not enter. He tried not to breathe to much. Dust settled over him as he remained still.