I fumbled as I took the key from my suitcase. It had a bright yellow ring around the sides, as it stood out beside all the rest. I held on to it as I walked toward the front door.
The hinges were stuck from the fresh wall paint in the doorway. The small flower designs crawled up the walls to the forced cathedral ceilings.
I entered. I hesitated for a moment. Not knowing why I came, my legs continued to bring me closer. Wondering what I could say to explain my return, each word began to melt down my throat.
The aromas from the kitchen swarmed around my body as it flirted with my brain.
The white lace hung on the side of the end tables, barely exposing the nude wood. Plastic dust-filled flowers were gently placed in the center of the coffee table, left never to wonder about their death. A keepsake box, from carved wood was placed near the welcoming flowers, as an emergency conversation piece for the many uncomfortable visitors.
There I was, in the doorway once again. The silhouette of her body remained dark besides the light colors that surrounded us. Her soft linen dress was draped around her body as the edge of her skirt swayed back and forth.
Nothing at this moment had changed. Not a single thing had been moved. Each wrinkled memory was now carried on my back as each fear was packed tightly in my suitcase.
I had arrived. From the doorway to our encounter was a long and narrow journey, which I had to overcome.
Yet the silhouette was now more defined. The outlined of her body curved each and every day we remained apart.
The mail had been placed near the telephone, besides a pen and a notepad. The pages were new and clean, as the light blue lines had been fading from the wait of my messages.
She remained still, as if she waited for me. Yet I could not approach her, as I kept this moment in time.
The tea brewed and the garlic cloves began to sizzle.
Her body moved from side to side as she continued to wait.
The doorway was where I had lingered, watching her from a far as her tears began to break the silence.
Each hand had begun to wipe away tear after tear. She wept, and would not stop. The chamomile was now boiling as the garlic burned.
I had felt her sorrow as my presence had entered. I remained frozen in the doorway, not knowing when to approach her. Her tears continued.
As I watched the dark silhouette of her body embrace her sadness, I had held tight the bright yellow key in my hand. I ran my fingers up and down the edges of its spine as I leaned forward and grabbed my suitcase.
Bookmark/Search this post with:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
