Let’s Fill This Closet With Warmth.
The walls are dark mahogany wood plastered over grey cement. The air smells of musky wood and dust, tinned cherries, and soap. You lie on the shelves leading infinitely backward, blankly examining the crosses carved into the grooves. Your fingers tremble, gently tracing the edges. The walls are lined with old pictures. Parchment-like grandparents. Parents that stood behind you like jailers. Hands on your shoulders like gods bestowing an unwanted blessing. Your face is scrunched up in pain. They keep this one in here, in the closet, hidden away. A testament to the truth of this household. Pages upon pages of history buried in photo albums. I add my own to them, ones where you are smiling. Wonderfully besotten with hope. You are not smiling now, shrinking small and cold in this musty room you call home. But I have seen you as bright as the sun. White light passing through the prism. Iridescent. Behind the weary gazes and the hunched shoulders, there is an inkling of hope. A reminder of happiness. Semi-vivid memories of the time we spent outside, of the times we escaped through the lonely trapdoor window. Yes, they were single nights, far spaced out; but you remember they happened. They are the reason you still sit up, back straight against the wall. They are the reason you still see me, still smile at me. My love, my sweetest, my infinite rainbow of joy- you may live in this hole in the wall now, but it is not your home. It is not your eternity. One day, you'll pick the lock that binds you here, and walk out, head held high. You will be magnificent. But for now, I will be your flashlight in this jail cell. Turn the fairy-lights on. Dust the carved shelves. Break out the tins of food. I will hold your cheeks in my palms. Rest your head against my chest. I will keep you safe. We can line the walls with memories, paint over the rot. Come on, crank up the thermostat. Put your hands in mine. Let's fill this closet with warmth.
