In Annailo's mind…
My heart is a house, with four red, fragile walls – and a door. The door is always open. “Come in, tell me what you are carrying. I´ll make some coffee in the mean time.”
Everyone is welcome at my house. No one is too big, no one too small. There is no doorman to stop them. “Do you want milk and sugar in your coffee?”
Some come without an invitation. They sit by the kitchen table with me. I listen and I read. Study and absorb. “Leave already? No, please, stay. Are no opening hours here.”
Others stop by when you least expect it. Suddenly they are there, by the door. I greet them and invite them inside. “By all means, keep your shoes on. Have not been cleaning up here for a while now.”
A few come blowing in with the wind, do not know how they eneded up with me. They can never find the way out, stay there forever. “Lay down in my bed, let me fondle your hair, sing in your ear.”
There are more and more of them. The fragile, red walls are packed and shivering. My poor, little heart will soon burst.
“May I write your story, please? It´s tickling so sweet. If I do not write it now, the walls will collide. Let us write a fairy tail.”
Moments are so fragile and small, so painful and so sweet, sometimes both. I memorize them between red, fragile walls, then I seal the door with nails and a hammer. Terrified of losing them, the painful and the sweet. Hanging them like pictures in a frame.
All I wish is to remember them, all the people and my time with them. Did not know it then, am living on the memories.
Trying to enjoy the moment now, not thinking of the end or tomorrow. Only live in present time. Love them who can be loved, till my soul bleeds and die.
I beg you not to move out of my house, but to stay and live there with me. The pain you are giving me, I will never let it go, but live with it, grow stronger with it. Stronger than ever before.
The house of my heart is too small, but the foundation is still standing strong. When I think it cannot take it anymore, it is reinforced. Something new is born.
The coffee is cold, words have gone silent in the night. But soon a new morning will come, and the door will still be open.
The day I close the door to my heart, I will no longer be me. Eventually I will die of a stroke when my passion calls. But it hurts to live as open as I do between my red, fragile walls.
Annailo
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