Saturday, November 12, 2005
Walking slowly into the house, my thoughts lay on which room I would occupy. Which one would resound best to my personality? Which one would strike a chord in me? The first had no floor; an unfathomable vortex awaited, sliding the unwary down, down into an abyss of blackness and no hope. Always drifting, neverending in the darkness. Hastily, I walked on. The second seemed empty, then as I looked up, I noticed a strange thing. There were many drawers embedded in the old ceiling, opening and closing of their own accord. Shivering, I moved on. The next had a pair of eyes which watched every movement made, following, following. Following me as I left them, embedded in the ceiling. The fourth had no door. As I approached, I noticed some paintings of old record covers, staring from the ceiling. And as I looked, they retreated. Retreating from the sight of this little human, retreating from the gaze that would take every little detail apart, record it, take it away with it as it left. And as I left, the records returned from whence it ran, haunting me as they lay embedded in the ceiling.
 -our
love story ;
