An empty room with nothing inside.
It’s dark and lonely and empty regardless of the three things I toss in rather blindly. I don’t look as I open the door and I don’t look as I toss in three, possibly meaningless, things.
I don’t know what possesses me to toss in a book; not just any book, but the one which I could have read on any day, and in any mood.
I drag a large pillow in next, though this is probably because I don’t have room anywhere else for it.
And last of all, I toss in me.