Today I sit in my usual place, sipping tea and watching the passers-by.
Within these walls, I live in the safety of the past, everything faded and known. Muffled voices come through the crackle of an old radio, narrating a brown-and-tan world of well rehearsed dance and drama.
As I peer through the sagging window, nothing threatens, nothing surprises. The memorabilia of past joys collect dust on a nearby shelf, comforting reminders of love, belonging, and home. From this vantage point I can participate in the present at a distance (only I must ignore the cracks that might let in a beam of something new).
It is safe, yes, and also numbingly familiar. Continue reading “The Sepia Room”
