I want to view my thoughts as separate compartmentalized
beings like a hotel room, just a temporary visit that’s not really mine. Each
room a different thought, feeling. I open a door and decide to be surrounded by
the thoughts that accompany the room. The art on the walls are the memories. I
look at each one and see my family, my friends, and my self. Each piece
significant. Some separate, some together. One painting is dark. I see pain in
each brush stroke. Another is a motion captured: blurry and light. There is not
one painting with clear exact focus, just jumbles of people and objects and
places. This room is separate from
all the other rooms. I walk into another. It’s clean and organized. The
furniture is simple. A light on the desk. A bed made. The picture on the wall
is a black and white photograph. Its defined and in focus. Its clear with its
boundaries and borders. It’s my retreat from the other rooms. Someone educated
and logical stays in this room. I am organized and planned when I’m here. I
want to stay but all of my belongings are in that other room so I have to
leave. My belongings are in the room with the unmade bed and the curtains are
covering the light and I can barely see the art on the walls because it’s too
dark. I don’t want to clean my room or organize or let go; I want to visit the
rooms that are clean and pretend I live there.
