It’s been said…on the journey from stranger to friend to lover, trust is always the gatekeeper. So it was with us.
The first encounter was challenged; the front door didn’t open easily…or very wide. And you took your time… frisking me with your eyes, then your heart…before you smiled and let me in.
Once inside, your world came alive . Afternoon sun streamed through open blinds. Awash in light, everything seemed possible.
Looking out from your balcony, I came to understand your views. A bittersweet landscape; a love for the timeless things that remained authentic. The occasional bursts of uncontrollable laughter, seemingly for nothing at all.
In the corner sat a small desk, the chair pushed back, where you tried to navigate heart vs money, using vs being used – with never a clear winner.
Beside the closet was a full length mirror – the hard reflective surface that showed you in perfect form with standing ovations…or just another deluded dancer prone to catastrophic falls. Rarely did you see your own intrinsic beauty that was so obvious to me.
All coming to a climax in your narrow bed – where love invaded, surged, fell back against the pillows…and faded away.
But our real story rests on the vast invisible world of quiet wounds and hard choices that lies below the surface – two travelers struggling with the choreography of hope…pausing for a moment in Room 1211 to break ourselves open, then move on when the music stopped playing.