I don't think about it. It's just there. I've gotten used to it.
It's not an elephant in the room, or a dark cloud in my mind. It is more like a dusty old sofa. I never sit on it, and no one else ever uses it.
It is just there and I don't know how to get rid of it.
It got inside somehow but I can't get it out. Maybe the door shrunk somewhere along the line.
I don't think about it, but I sometimes notice it there in the corner, or something reminds me of it. Oh, there you are, you ugly, old couch.
No one talks about the couch or how to get rid of it. They don't ask how or why it's here, they just pretend its not. That is okay, I understand, it is an awful couch after all.
Maybe one day I will get the couch to fit through the door, or maybe I can make it like new again; like it was never old and ugly at all.
Until then, there it sits, I don't think about it, but it's there.