fear of open spaces The house makes me want to nest, to build a little hovel of cramped spaces, minimal light, and walls covered with books, images, and ideas. We’ve been here nearly a month and we spend our evening calling out to discover relative location. Sonars of “where are yous?” pinging through the storeys. It’s all still a game.. Not quite real, and all fragmented into bits and chunks of variable paces: we live there, but we haven’t distilled it into a home quite yet. The memories are mostly of two-by-fours, concrete piles, guided electrical inspections, and climbing through the open doors across dusty floors. Holidays, parties, gatherings, shared moments are still only as meaningful as a picnic or a camping trip, the space still too easily forgettable, the memories barely seeds in some foreign rooms. What to do. |
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