From my bed, the room looks small yet spacious, with pretty curtains but the ceiling seems to stretch beyond the horizon. That’s not a hyperbole, I’ll tell you when it is.
If and when I turn to my right, the vision fades to something I can’t yet put my finger on. Maybe because it’s unnamed.
Grief wears a blue dress and rummages through those dusty books. It’s funny because Hope also struts around my bed, just in different shade of blue. Celestial blue? Hope smiles a sad smile seeing my binders, daily planner and body polishing oil. Grief chooses to sit by the window.. but not when it rains.
These two, love narratives or at least they like to reminisce something that never belonged to me.
This one time, whilst I dusted those books, Grief told me a story of how a boy who found a house of four and ten rooms, decided to envision a memory castle in it, no.. a happy residence or maybe .. my memory fails those details. But Hope.. listens earnestly. Ever so patiently, sighing in between.
I think they get along. Grief keeps to the window, occasionally breaking into stories that never leave me clear headed and Hope reads my journal suggesting how I need a new pen. Sometimes, they speak a similar language that might owe itself to the tenure of nostalgia but at least there’s a friendship.
Friendship? That just might be a hyperbole.
But together they build a relentless arena in my small yet spacious room, an arena Denial just can’t enter. Maybe they hate its teal dress, it can be an off putting color but it matches my curtains so I never seem to mind.
