The curtains are tied back, patterned with lilacs and grass and tulips. I gently tug at the ropes until they unravel and the afternoon light is blocked. In the darkness, I can talk to myself until I am old and withered. I’ll pull out a chair and sit back into the paneled wall. We will discuss all that was. The times we ran too fast and when we were covered in grass stains. That one time in the winter when the snow covered our hair and the air was so cold that it stung our throat. Or all those games of hide and seek and kickball.
We’ll talk about all that could be, all the wonderful things we could do and all the things that we could accomplish. We could write a million songs and play them for each other. We could keep our apartment clean and shave our legs. We could travel to Italy and Australia and Scotland. We could do a lot of things. For instance, we could stop living in fear or learn how to be a perfect chef. There would be so much we could still do, like drive across the country and play the piano. We could talk for days of our dreams.
We’ll do this until it gets too cold and the darkness becomes to hard to see in. I’ll pull back the curtains and the afternoon will still be there, there will still be safety in my reflection.
Everyday Quirks 