The Room I Met You In
My world is a lot like yours. The only difference is when you meet someone new for the first time, a room is created. It’s a room only for the two of you. The only thing that is the same about all of these rooms is that they start out blank. There are only white walls, floors, and ceiling. With one single light in the middle. But the more you do with that person the room will start to change so that no two rooms are exactly the same. This is the room I met you in.
One of the rooms that I can remember is the room I have with my mother. It has changed over time as things have come and gone. Instead of couches there is a huge pile of soft pillows in front of a TV. We would often jump into the pile rough house, snuggle, watch TV, have pillow fights and make pillow forts. Once we are done we cuddle up and look out of this humongous window that goes from floor to ceiling. Sometimes it’s a bright sunny day and we cloud watch or when it’s raining we burrow inside our pile and listen to the rain tapping against the window. Even when my mom isn’t in the room it still feels comforting.
Another room I can remember is the room I have with my dad. It’s a huge arcade room filled to the brim with different games, consoles, and machines. Me and my dad would play different games and help each other when we got frustrated. But the one thing that bugged me was that he never talks to me. Not really, so it’s hard for me and him to socialize when really it’s not that hard to but it feels like now and then that he doesn’t want to spend time with me. At least it isn’t as bad as my sister.
Me and my sister used to always have fun with each other in our room. It was big and we had a lot of toys all over the floor. We also had a huge bed that we would jump on and rough house on. There was this cool table we had that would react to body temperature. It was normal to see small hand prints and silly drawings on the table, but not my hand print is the only thing on the table. But the older we got, the farther we got. Nowadays she never visits the room anymore. Even though I know she won’t be there I knock on the room door, as usual, no answer. I always visit the room hoping that she will come back. So I do my usual cleaning and sit on my side of the bed and stare out a big window that gives the room a light purple glow from the walls.
This room is lonely.
I have other rooms. They are far more welcoming than my sisters. I had a room for my abuela that was filled with paintings. She was always a bright and colorful artist. The walls were painted blue with beautiful hues of peach, orange, and purple. With fluffy clouds floating effortlessly on the walls. She had many plants sitting or hung up by her window too. She loved taking care of the plants. She was often times a busy body, so if she didn't have something to do, she would get anxious.
There is also the room with my Opa. Opa, means grandfather. It was less of a room now that I think about it. But it was more of an endless expanse of poppy flowers. Our spot was by a tree, never quite sure what type of tree it was, saying it baired many different fruit. Me and my opa would go on walks with our dogs, Little bear and River to enjoy the scenery. It never seemed to get old to us. We enjoyed nature, and respected it.
All of these details and rooms would change over the years, but the rooms are a mere reflection. Somewhere that emotions can be made clear, and thoughts broke out of the mind...
This is the room I met you in.