It has been raining for days now.
Outside the walls of this room the city closes its eyes as it is washed clean of its excess, of its speed, of its tired exhaustion.
They stare out of the windows of buildings, buses and cars, wondering if it will ever stop. It has been raining for days now, and it shows no sign of relenting, just a steady downpour over the black cobbles and concrete slabs, until the mud hidden underground percolates through the cracks, flowing like a dark river over old pathways and passages, rewriting the geography of this city once again, contributing another layer to the perpetual urban sedimentation.

We were told that there was no room, but we entered anyway.

We walked through the only door left open, down the ramp and through the heavy velvet curtain that sealed us all in.

We listened and we cared, and we held each other’s gaze as we came and went, without fanfare nor permission- we simply turned up for the show.

Now we sit in this room, and listen to the thunder tearing through the night- because it must be night by now. 
And the rain falls on the other side of these walls that hold us together even as outside the day is turning, and the stories are falling apart.
We can’t remember how long we have been down here, walking over the smooth black cobbles of this shelter, our shared refuge. 
We know all its kinks and ridges, and we never trip on the steps as we cross through the threshold. 
We sit on chairs that are always laid out in front of a screen lit up by the many iterations of our dreams, testimonies of our actions, because of all the things we know for sure the first one is that doing good or bad are both better than doing nothing.

They told us there was no room- but we slid through the cracks, and washed the dried ink from the floor, and mended the roof, and painted the walls- until it appeared.

And when they told us we had to leave, we turned into hauntings, and they could not remove us.

So we stayed.

And now, outside, it has been raining for days.

We sit close and keep each other warm- this room can get cold at times- it’s the old brick walls, and the cobbled floors, and the draughts that always seem to find a way in through the curtain, through our reverie…

We tell each other stories, and we show each other the scars, and we look after the still open wounds. After all this is our hospital, where we come to mend.

Outside the water is pooling up, streaming past their windows, confining them all to their solitude. And the tall buildings are buckling under the weight of this downpour, their skinny elegance badly adjusted to the earthbound gravity of the water. 
A power cut plunges the city into darkness, and all movement ceases.
Apart from the patter of the rain, everything is silent.
And the thunder rips through the sky once again.
Inside our room we sit and listen, and watch the brightness of our vision illuminate the screen in front of our eyes- a brightness unaffected by power shortages.
When we entered, we did not know that a room is all you need to dream.
When we dreamt, we did not know that a dream is all you need to float.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s