It takes a bare room, stripped of everything, to understand what it contained. Rooms are not just containers but they are containers to live in. They hold you as you experience each day differently and even as everything changes, they remain the same. They remain something that you can return to and maybe part of the charm of these four walls is just that; the fact that they are a constant and a familiarity.
I remember the first time that you let me in your room. It was mid week and had no real remarkable features about it until that late afternoon. Upon entering, I knew that the things in that room were not shared with just anybody, that you have a way of filtering yourself down for others. Nothing about that room was filtered and neither were you. It reflected quirks and intimacies and was an environment conducive to truth.
That was four months ago and that room only ever encouraged truth, or maybe we both did, something did.
A lot happened in that room and seeing it removed of all personality, stripped of everything that we had become accustomed to was, in a way, heartbreaking. It is the people that make a room but it felt as if the bareness of the room, ready for the next person, somehow took away the power of those events when in reality the furniture had nothing to do with any of it.
Those four walls held powerful words that had been spoken, kept us safe when we didn't feel like leaving our world, saw the beginning of us and saw a change in us that would put on hold the way that we had come to know, it saw us both grow into ourselves and each other, but most of all, it let us be who we wanted to be and in that fully furnished room, we were stripped of all reserves.