Walking into the
bedroom, the fish tank is on the right of the door. The light from the tank sprinkles
onto the stones and their colors run brightness into the dark blue walls.
Directly in front is the bed laying on the floor with a comforter older than
the one that sleeps in them with worn out holes from years of sleep.
When lying in the
bed, to left of it are piles and rows of books for recreational use and laying
on top of those are gently placed yellow-lined pads. Those yellow lines have
everything in them. They carry feelings of pain along with accomplishments of
moments and persons. They live within these four walls drenched in blue. The
yellow-lines come out best when trapped in those blue walls and may only come
out of that room when they are ready to be shared by others. To the right of
the bed is the nightstand that holds a drawer of memories from years past and
pictures of mother dearest when she was young. At the foot of the bed places, a
black trunk covered in pointless stickers from events, companies, and bands which
was given as a gift five years ago. Not many know what can be found in the
trunk, and its meant to stay that way.
This room held up by
walls drenched in blue caresses moods that in no way were found before living
here. Those moods were never captured until the yellow-lined pads came into
possession. They are living words that when spoken are whispered because it was
meant for only one person to reflect on and challenge the meanings. To be left
in this room is to be left in paradise. My paradise. The way those blue walls
come to me and let me see where I am when flipping through the chicken scratches
is impeccable. How one person can withstand these moments is lucky. They can
live without regret, no lies, no secrets. Just you. No one can judge how you
are feeling and only you have the right to question those feelings.
When the middle of
night comes and lying on the bed holding yellow-lines close to the chest, I
breathe. The smoke hovers over the bed and the light from the tank scatters
just enough light to continue to fill those yellow-lines. Within the chicken
scratch, words are found and simply put:
Smoke covered room
Disguised in blue
walls
In an ownership of
books and photos
Only one sleeps here
With one set of
thoughts
Thoughts that are
not told
Who knows what those
thoughts are
Is anyone worrying
about these thoughts
Or can they see the
thoughts
Floating above her