The Room of The Mind, The Two Selves and The Ghosts at The Table
The room of my mind is never empty. It shifts with the seasons, sometimes warm, washed in gold, with open windows that let laughter wander in from the distant places. Other times, it is winter there. The curtains drawn, the air still, a silence that feels heavy enough to touch. I know every corner of this room, the desk where I write the thoughts I am too afraid to speak, the worn chair which remembers the weight of my tiredness, the shelves where I place pieces of the past I am not ready to let go. Somewhere in this room, two selves live together. One self remembers the years when love travelled across oceans. The way conversations could steady a restless night, the hours of laughter. She is soft-eyed, unguarded, certain that what was built over years could not be undone by a single season apart. The other stands by the door with her coat on. She remembers the night the truth arrived - uninvited, unyielding, and edged with shapes her mind had never dared to imagine. She knows the...