At the window I see transparency and reflections, contradiction to objective truth on both sides. On the outside it’s slick, glossy and full of lights. Shining down on the freshly watered concrete, waves of light with nowhere to go but back up to its source, only to be lost in the clouds like a child with a new idea; this truth is thirsty in a water world. Viscous words in a white world drowning in free breezes, encircling and puncturing the layers of oil drips and soulful sleet like scuba lace – – No protection when we don’t protect our environments. Constructs of instruction from the black and blue, a personification of a black eye in a culture of words lost in the torrent of 140 characters; what to do;
Inside it’s warm, but not bright, light filling every corner except those near the cold of the windows and doors. There, darkness lay a cold reminder of the truth, that just outside is a chilling wind of change that cannot be avoided, a reckoning of bitterness and piercing words meant to stop my progress and challenge my heart. Inside, it’s warm, but not bright. Wisdom does not line the walls, but impressionist paintings and stenciled signs hang lit up with passionate reds and deep, deep blues, lined with intense purples between the lines of the frames assigned. Inside it’s…warm. Inside, it’s loud. I can’t hear myself; what to do;
If a period refreshes abruptly and a comma is a breath, a semi-colon is an unending break between thoughts where connections and meaning take your breath away, but cannot be said.
This is my love.