song null. face null. space null. / 9
iET
Reflection
My house is finished. I roam from room to room. Everywhere it’s light. Everywhere it’s green. Everywhere I see us, I hear us. Everywhere is life. Everywhere is music.
You are standing by the table. The sun is shining through the stained glass, colouring the light in this room.
“Come,” you say, “You have the last piece, then it’s finished.” You stretch out your arms and show me your hands. The shards fit exactly in the palms of your hands. Carefully we lay the shards on the table and move them to form a whole.
Piece by piece. A piece for you. And a piece for you. For us together. For her alone.
Do you see it too? The memory. That moment. Those words. Do you remember… “I remember,” you say. “Do you?” We are nearly finished. There’s just that last piece left. I take it between thumb and index finger and see my own eye in the reflection. “I almost left it behind. Do you remember?” Yes, you also remember that. You nod. A lock of hair falls in front of your eyes when you bend down to lift up our daughter. The three of us look at the table.
The pieces form a whole, a mirror. You can still see the cracks. They form an erratic path, just like the journey that I have experienced.
The journey to you. We look at each other in mirror image. Do you remember? My eyes ask. Do you remember how I ended up here? In your arms? Do you remember how hungry I was? Your eyes confirm that you do. You smile. You remember. Our house is finished.
My house is finished. I roam from room to room. Everywhere it’s light. Everywhere it’s green. Everywhere I see us, I hear us. Everywhere is life. Everywhere is music.
You are standing by the table. The sun is shining through the stained glass, colouring the light in this room.
“Come,” you say, “You have the last piece, then it’s finished.” You stretch out your arms and show me your hands. The shards fit exactly in the palms of your hands. Carefully we lay the shards on the table and move them to form a whole.
Piece by piece. A piece for you. And a piece for you. For us together. For her alone.
Do you see it too? The memory. That moment. Those words. Do you remember… “I remember,” you say. “Do you?” We are nearly finished. There’s just that last piece left. I take it between thumb and index finger and see my own eye in the reflection. “I almost left it behind. Do you remember?” Yes, you also remember that. You nod. A lock of hair falls in front of your eyes when you bend down to lift up our daughter. The three of us look at the table.
The pieces form a whole, a mirror. You can still see the cracks. They form an erratic path, just like the journey that I have experienced.
The journey to you. We look at each other in mirror image. Do you remember? My eyes ask. Do you remember how I ended up here? In your arms? Do you remember how hungry I was? Your eyes confirm that you do. You smile. You remember. Our house is finished.