There is a bed like this in my mind. Sometimes I find it alone. Sometimes you are waiting there for me. Lately, I picture us stumbling into the room together.
There are rooms like this all over the world, waiting on us.
It’s the way the air exists inside an undisturbed bedroom. You can smell the fabric on the bed and the wood in the floor. Step to the window and you can taste the metal of the paint in your senses. Like a piece of fruit ripening, the room is full and almost overwhelming to the mind.The color of the ceiling and the coarseness of the blankets are like characterisitcs of yourself-they must be acknowledged. Because the place is changing you, writing new words on a page that turned when you pushed open the door.
You end up making love to the time and the space and in those small spaces on the clock between the 5 and the 6. This day will never return. And so you spend yourself and the air and them, until you are broke and finished.
Swimming back down stairs. You can hear voices now. Look back over your shoulder one more time, through the banisters. You know you will think back on this and it will pass from your eyes to theirs when you are very old. When you are then living in the mansion of your life, full of rooms and countless beds.
i am the luckiest.
