- Vol. 02
- Chapter 12
ThroneWe had a place whereby the wind gave us a chorus and the rain gave us a blanket. The sun could give us shadows of creatures unknown to man and the snow could coat in delicate white.
We would sit on a chair that once was a chair and she’d sit on my lap, laughing as the rain soaked the bottom of my jeans, a cigarette in her mouth. Each giggle puffed out smoke that covered her face and left her invisible for a second before returning, her eyes seemingly knowing where to look as they glared deep into my head. I’d stay silent, feeling the water soak through my clothes and give me goosebumps, allowing her to take control of the moment. I was the paper and she was the pen.
What kept that place close to us was the gravity of it. Empty and alone, it related to how we felt to the world. Each day came and went and dissolved into history. But that combination of dust, puddles and splinters always stood there, growing as we did. With each new plant or broken piece of timber, it adapted to life, just the way our hair grew or our skin burnt. But like all things, we knew that one day this place would end but we knew we would also. So we questioned, what was so different to our place to ourselves? What separated us from the physical, emotional or imaginative?
Everything ends and so did the seasons. But with that it gave birth to something new. The ending of snow gave to green, red and blue. The ending of growth went into heat. The ending of heat went to death. The ending of death lead to long nights and days of fantastic cold. And then what? It all happened again and we witnessed it all on our chair that was once a chair.
We never said goodbye to that place, even when we found it be a pile of rubble, separated from the ordinary with something as timid as tape.