Between the curtain and the window
The morning air looks crisp,
Just the perfect nip in the weather.
It feels beautiful,
feels like the perfect prelude,
To a symphony lurking to be created.
The notes are ever-present,
I just don't understand their language yet.
Funny how love language varies, so.
But my mind,
Often wanders in the spaces,
Spaces between the window and the world.
I exist in the space between the curtain and the window.
The unimportant, ignored, unseen,
The mere extra space,
Where we retreat when overwhelmed.
So many layers before I can breathe in another air.
For now, I've crossed the curtain,
The solid window remains.
The room looks different from here,
And so does the outside,
Significant shift lies in insignificant spaces.
It's here where you find the cobwebs,
The forgotten, adorned by vermin.
This space expands for you.
The straight curtain with distant folds,
Seems pregnant with my existence.
I'm within the smokescreen,
A part of it.
A part of the singular dimension of space.
Maybe that's what I needed,
For in one dimension,
Only reality can exist,
And illusions fade away.
The stale air stirs as I breathe,
Reminding me, that what I need is to go on,
This space is transient,
And can only take so much of me;
Before it births me,
This time, with vision rooted in reality.
Both outsides exist for me,
The world and the room.
But I am ready for the crisp air now.
Now that the window is open,
The air is hot.
Humidity's persistent existence,
the intangible water
Finds a body on my body.
Even if I close the window now,
I know the air outside.
The symphony has revealed itself -
A cacophony of intonations within me.
Time to embrace the water on my skin;
I open my curtains too.
And just like that,
The room fills with the melody of humidity,