~~give me love, or give me a window....
Aug. 23rd, 2002 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
reenkai'm in love. and... it's not what you're thinking. it's not with harry-- or draco-- or anyone, really. that's alright. i'm in love with light.
my room is dimly lit-- that's ok, i love having a room to myself, dim or not-- but. i want windows. huge, huge windows. i want a window taller than i am-- a french-door window-- on the third floor-- looking out onto a garden-- green, i want green. trees and grass and rustling in the wind and sighing in the darkness and flaming in the fall. i want to see the sun rise and set right in front of me as i write. i don't have a view, presently. that's alright, really, like i said-- it's not perfect but it's mine-- this view. but i miss it-- i used to live in a room on the third floor. so it didn't have huge windows-- but the sun streamed in all the same. and there was green outside-- and the room was just bathed, basked in light, every day. i didn't spend much time in it-- i didn't have my own computer, back then. so i just slept there. i was so stupid. did i get wiser? well. i thought i'd found happiness-- and i can't say i'd refuse it now-- i'm in love with light-- but i leave my love for lesser things. i want windows where the light lingers until late into the evening, spiralling little threads into my room, to write by. and then, the moonlight. and the starlight. everywhere i go, i look at windows-- stare at the bigger ones, completely entranced. so much more fascinating than mirrors, they are. like eyes. the world-- just makes more sense-- or maybe less sense, the more you see of it. and there's so much to see. and it's all-- bathed in light. i forget color-- and i forget words-- but i never forget light. it's sort of the source of story, to me, the source of my first curiosity. the visual world, so intricate and maze-like, and endless. endless levels of detail, of resolution. so intriguingly framed by glass. i'm well-suited for that-- for sitting still, and looking, for a long, long time. i love to walk-- but i don't have to. i can sit still, and just look outside through my huge glass window.
it horrifies me-- people spending their lives indoors, with these small windows-- or no windows. artificial light, and monitor-light, and cold, air-conditioned light. all of it seems like being locked up, in an asylum, and you can't even see the exit signs. i grew up in a city, you see. i spent most of my life in buildings. the only thing that makes life bearable in the city-- besides the sky, and the trees-- still strong, still comforting-- are the windows. i can only live in a city with huge, huge windows.
yes. stories. yes. they keep me sane, yes. but somehow i associate the physical pleasure of reading, also, with light, with laying on my stomach on a bed by a window, feeling the sun hit my half-closed eyelids, feeling my back tingle with pleasure, my body buzzing in that only-half-awakeness that comes when you lie still for so long. that, or cuddled up on a huge old armchair, again by a window-- but there haven't been as many of those. i always had my bed, though. well, before i told my mother to throw it out, that is.
summer light, winter light, fall and spring light-- morning light, midday light, late afternoon light, moonlight-- i love them all. love is light that just finally found its way inside you.
~~
«We are all prisoners but some of us are in cells with windows and some without. »
~~kahlil.
my room is dimly lit-- that's ok, i love having a room to myself, dim or not-- but. i want windows. huge, huge windows. i want a window taller than i am-- a french-door window-- on the third floor-- looking out onto a garden-- green, i want green. trees and grass and rustling in the wind and sighing in the darkness and flaming in the fall. i want to see the sun rise and set right in front of me as i write. i don't have a view, presently. that's alright, really, like i said-- it's not perfect but it's mine-- this view. but i miss it-- i used to live in a room on the third floor. so it didn't have huge windows-- but the sun streamed in all the same. and there was green outside-- and the room was just bathed, basked in light, every day. i didn't spend much time in it-- i didn't have my own computer, back then. so i just slept there. i was so stupid. did i get wiser? well. i thought i'd found happiness-- and i can't say i'd refuse it now-- i'm in love with light-- but i leave my love for lesser things. i want windows where the light lingers until late into the evening, spiralling little threads into my room, to write by. and then, the moonlight. and the starlight. everywhere i go, i look at windows-- stare at the bigger ones, completely entranced. so much more fascinating than mirrors, they are. like eyes. the world-- just makes more sense-- or maybe less sense, the more you see of it. and there's so much to see. and it's all-- bathed in light. i forget color-- and i forget words-- but i never forget light. it's sort of the source of story, to me, the source of my first curiosity. the visual world, so intricate and maze-like, and endless. endless levels of detail, of resolution. so intriguingly framed by glass. i'm well-suited for that-- for sitting still, and looking, for a long, long time. i love to walk-- but i don't have to. i can sit still, and just look outside through my huge glass window.
it horrifies me-- people spending their lives indoors, with these small windows-- or no windows. artificial light, and monitor-light, and cold, air-conditioned light. all of it seems like being locked up, in an asylum, and you can't even see the exit signs. i grew up in a city, you see. i spent most of my life in buildings. the only thing that makes life bearable in the city-- besides the sky, and the trees-- still strong, still comforting-- are the windows. i can only live in a city with huge, huge windows.
yes. stories. yes. they keep me sane, yes. but somehow i associate the physical pleasure of reading, also, with light, with laying on my stomach on a bed by a window, feeling the sun hit my half-closed eyelids, feeling my back tingle with pleasure, my body buzzing in that only-half-awakeness that comes when you lie still for so long. that, or cuddled up on a huge old armchair, again by a window-- but there haven't been as many of those. i always had my bed, though. well, before i told my mother to throw it out, that is.
summer light, winter light, fall and spring light-- morning light, midday light, late afternoon light, moonlight-- i love them all. love is light that just finally found its way inside you.
~~
«We are all prisoners but some of us are in cells with windows and some without. »
~~kahlil.
