Enclosed
Posted: Wed Nov 28, 2007 6:17 am
The grey shadows of the raindrops stream across the floor, lit through the window by the lampposts guarding the building.
The room is dark as is the late hour, but the dim light refracting through the glass is enough to illuminate my way. She sits on the floor barefooted like she almost always does, not acknowledging me like she almost never does. The soft thuds of my feet seem intrusive, breaking the silence inside the room and the quiet, incessant drumming of the rain outside of it.
"Hey."
The word comes out as a whisper on its own accord.
She doesn't answer, but I didn't expect her to. I kneel down behind her and lightly touch her shoulder, finally drawing a reaction as her muscles stiffen to recognize my presence.
I press my face against her neck and wildly tousled hair, which is sticking to every possible direction in complete disarray, its fiery color smothered by the darkness. The short wisps of hair are caressing and tickling my nose, and I don't have to draw in breath to sense the familiar scent her auburn hair carries. It is somehow adjectiveless, as intangible to words as it is to touch.
I try to recall a past discussion, but the expression I am looking for eludes my memory.
"What was that word for things that can't be explained by any other means than personal experience?"
I whisper my question into her hair, a rhetoric inquiry that will get its answer anyway.
"Qualia."
She says the word slowly, not clumsily like I would, but naturally like a person who is used to saying unnatural things does.
Light and shadow play on her white blouse and face as she turns her head to catch a glimpse at me from the corner of her eye. Her expression is cryptic as usual, not giving even the slightest hint of what she is thinking about.
She leans back against me almost unnoticeably until I support the weight of her lightweight frame entirely. A long breath out, almost emptying her lungs, a habit I have come to interpret as an attempt to rid her thoughts of the noise that often occupies them. The act shrinks her already thin body even more, making me realize how cool her skin is. I wrap my arms around her and draw her even closer to share my body warmth.
"You are cold."
"You are not."
"I brought you some coffee."
A contemplative pause, the unnecessary kind that seem to be a hobby of hers.
"I don't want it yet. This is enough for now."
I look over her shoulder at the canvas. The colors are distorted by the lack of light as she wanted, but I can make out the shapes. I can see that it will be a good one.
"Will you be finished tonight?"
"I hope so. I wouldn't want to wait another three months for a new rainy night."
"Yeah, maybe it would be for the best."
She twists her toes around another brush and dips it into a dark paint that could be blue or green.
I keep myself wrapped around her and watch the unseen colors coil around each other in the darkness.
The soft rhythm of the raindrops envelops the room, the city and all of existence within its quiet drumming.
The room is dark as is the late hour, but the dim light refracting through the glass is enough to illuminate my way. She sits on the floor barefooted like she almost always does, not acknowledging me like she almost never does. The soft thuds of my feet seem intrusive, breaking the silence inside the room and the quiet, incessant drumming of the rain outside of it.
"Hey."
The word comes out as a whisper on its own accord.
She doesn't answer, but I didn't expect her to. I kneel down behind her and lightly touch her shoulder, finally drawing a reaction as her muscles stiffen to recognize my presence.
I press my face against her neck and wildly tousled hair, which is sticking to every possible direction in complete disarray, its fiery color smothered by the darkness. The short wisps of hair are caressing and tickling my nose, and I don't have to draw in breath to sense the familiar scent her auburn hair carries. It is somehow adjectiveless, as intangible to words as it is to touch.
I try to recall a past discussion, but the expression I am looking for eludes my memory.
"What was that word for things that can't be explained by any other means than personal experience?"
I whisper my question into her hair, a rhetoric inquiry that will get its answer anyway.
"Qualia."
She says the word slowly, not clumsily like I would, but naturally like a person who is used to saying unnatural things does.
Light and shadow play on her white blouse and face as she turns her head to catch a glimpse at me from the corner of her eye. Her expression is cryptic as usual, not giving even the slightest hint of what she is thinking about.
She leans back against me almost unnoticeably until I support the weight of her lightweight frame entirely. A long breath out, almost emptying her lungs, a habit I have come to interpret as an attempt to rid her thoughts of the noise that often occupies them. The act shrinks her already thin body even more, making me realize how cool her skin is. I wrap my arms around her and draw her even closer to share my body warmth.
"You are cold."
"You are not."
"I brought you some coffee."
A contemplative pause, the unnecessary kind that seem to be a hobby of hers.
"I don't want it yet. This is enough for now."
I look over her shoulder at the canvas. The colors are distorted by the lack of light as she wanted, but I can make out the shapes. I can see that it will be a good one.
"Will you be finished tonight?"
"I hope so. I wouldn't want to wait another three months for a new rainy night."
"Yeah, maybe it would be for the best."
She twists her toes around another brush and dips it into a dark paint that could be blue or green.
I keep myself wrapped around her and watch the unseen colors coil around each other in the darkness.
The soft rhythm of the raindrops envelops the room, the city and all of existence within its quiet drumming.