No Reason

Just one of those nights where I’m loving life for no reason at all. I think that no reason may be the best reason for loving things and for loving people. Maybe it’s when we feel the need to search for reasons is when there’s a problem.

I’m here at my desk, sitting in my white chair that looks like an egg, or a cup of some sort. It’s a cool summer night, and there’s this wonderful, uncanny air coming in from the window right next to me, the distracting window that I gaze out of from time to time…okay, all of the time. I can’t stop looking around my room, as if I’ll find something new each time. I often look around my room the way Rene still looks at me.

I’m so enamored with this space and I don’t know what it is. That is the beautiful thing about architecture—it is essentially how someone chooses to craft space. Isn’t that what all artists do to an extent? Don’t we craft what we craft around space, breath and silence? Don’t sculptors rely on negative space to tell the story of the clay? Isn’t music meaningless without the silences in between the clamor?

My room isn’t fully decorated yet, and I’m looking forward to what I’ll do with a couple of my walls. I’ve decided to grace the walls of my room only with the art of my friends and if I get into collage art, which I’m really interested in, I may soon be gracing my own walls with my own masterpieces. I’ve commissioned my friend Kristine the artist to create something. I can’t wait to see what she’ll come up with!

Looking around my room again. I love these wood floors that my egg chair glides so effortlessly across. I love my white bed that accepts my body like a lover. I love the warm, unimposing light that my lamplight offers to the content but lonely night. But mostly, I love my room for no reason at all.

Rene left a little while ago. I haven’t forgotten what a wonderful lover he is but isn’t it fun to be reminded of things you didn’t forget in the first place? I don’t want him to be my boyfriend again, but damn that man knows how to love me. He’s always known. He’s always touched my body the way I touch some of my favorite books. He reads it, turns the pages, then reads it backwards for new understandings. I find him comfortable and his intentions toward me genuine, so I will keep him. And the cool thing is, he loves this space that I love, this space that holds us, cups us in its hands.