the yellow room - June 24th
I had a dream about a yellow room, once. What's funny is that I only remembered it just now, as I was titling this. The dream was significant, one of those that you write down as soon as you wake up, to be sure that you remember it right and that it goes unforgotten. The journal containing the specifics is sadly not at hand - all I recall is the funny feeling of that yellow room, how it was eerie because on the other side of the door lay a garden I had to enter, heaven in some form, but I couldn't leave the yellow room just yet; I think there was someone important to meet. Since memory's limits require that story be left for another time, I'll tell you instead of the yellow room in which I can currently be found.
~
The yellow is soft like butter, but every surface has layers of faded red stains - dust carried in by the wind, dirt rubbed on from years of life. Laundry hangs brightly, tidily, fluttering along the cord stretched across the room with every push of the entering wind. On the floor, rust-coloured dust collects in swirls, entering through the screen windows despite the slants of glass pane. You feel at peace here. It's calm, bright, and big. A space to be alone, to sit away, in that moving, windy silence.
-- June 24, 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment