One day, when the sun is hiding behind an ashen cloud I will find you and take you with me to the old warehouse. I have been there several times, but how did I get there?
We have to walk down a muddy road that has no name and cannot be found on the map and it is definitely not close to anything I know, and does not belong to anybody I know. If you are not looking for the warehouse - an old building with yellowing paint that is peeling off in artistic patterns - you will miss it. There are obviously no clues or signboards but there is the hope of finding a traveller who will not have directions, but he will have stories to tell from across the seas and beyond the forest.
It is beautiful, this warehouse, you may not think so when you see the broken door-knob and window shutters that are hanging off rusting hinges. But that is also because you see only the holes that the termites have left behind and when you touch the wall, the red brick that hides behind the paint, crumbles.
We will go by walk. It is a long walk. But we will carry notebooks and crayons, a dictionary, pens and 2-minute noodles that come with plastic forks. You can teach me rhythm and I will read to you till the evening light fades.
There are days when in the middle of the night, if you lie down in the wild grass and hold your breath, in the stillness you can hear the earth breathing and it is glorious.
I like to imagine that this is my little secret, but I know it is not. On an old tree stump that was felled a long time ago I have carved my name, claiming ownership. And when you run your fingers along the wall you can trace all the names that have been carved in with shards of glass, sharp stones and pen knives. When I read their names, I see their faces and can tell if they were travellers, or lost or simply searching for something they lost.
Sometimes I dream that I live there with a man. Someone who will play an instrument and sing the blues. He will cook and I will clean and I will write. Poetry and lyrics and novellas and things to do, I will write them all down. We will forget the date and day and count down the days with notches we draw on the wall.
And one day when the sun is hiding behind an ashen cloud, I will find you and take you with me to the old warehouse. I have been there several times and in my dreams I have built a life there with a man who plays an instrument and sings the blues.
Sometimes I dream that I live there with a man. Someone who will play an instrument and sing the blues. He will cook and I will clean and I will write. Poetry and lyrics and novellas and things to do, I will write them all down. We will forget the date and day and count down the days with notches we draw on the wall.
And one day when the sun is hiding behind an ashen cloud, I will find you and take you with me to the old warehouse. I have been there several times and in my dreams I have built a life there with a man who plays an instrument and sings the blues.
