#53 A Future Roof

It was a skeletal structure in the beginning before rust and splinters, before paint and laquer and all those choices. Inside corners ninety degrees, square, bubbles between the lines, sturdy. Over deep mahogany the walls seemed to grow on their own.

It was built to hold the things they made together. His joy manifested in the many black and white photographs He'd taken which lined the walls - Strangers at the airport, at the gate, in frozen black frames. Her mystery wove the rug - Cyan, Magenta, Olive, Buttercup, Celtic knots with hidden faces. They were proud of the beauty they'd housed here. They rolled over the rug, admired the photographs, touched the walls and in doing so they touched each other. The room loved them.

It took shape near the water, it was elemental in it's own right. The walls continued to grow taller than He or She could have dreamed, not even their ladders would reach the crown. The walls grew over the seasons until He could not reach high enough to hang his photographs and her rug, which was once so massive, had shrunk in comparison to the immensity of this new place.

Born of two minds it held plum and level for many years and many more years before the first crack appeared on its mahogany face.

He and She always meant to build the roof when the room was little and they could reach, but little more than support beams hung on it's crown, and every moment the roof-to-be grew further away. The room saw the two smaller by the day, and then not at all.

The room sweat and creaked alone in the rafters and so it built itself a window, and in the winter a thick woolen curtain hung over it, but snow still fell from above. One wall sagged away from the rest, obtuse angles formed. The breeze off the water washed over the rug that lay years below and made the black frames dance until the people in the photographs rocked on their toes in embraces.

It grew tall enough that it might fall over and then it leaned against something. The room made another window to see, and through the window it saw the most beautiful red brick building with a window as well, and in just the same place. And inside were lime-green walls and a soft taste of trumpets. This other room looked back and saw something as well. The room shook and rested against the building that had grown there beside it, and this new structure leaned back.

They grew differently from then on - New supports formed over the dusty rafters knitting their crowns together - Decorative bay windows, facing each other - cathedral spires knotting together and gargoyles with secrets - a floor, a lime rug, pictures in dark blue frames, syncopated rhythms, two walls each, never sparing a color or complex beat, long grained mahogany, and a great red door that never closed properly.