Across a field of lilac trees and newly sprouted canola lies a tiny wooden house.
Walk up the stone path.
The door creaks as it’s opened wide.
Light illuminates from within — something living which breathes only in the space which isn’t seen. The staircase beckons to an isolated crawl space.
Inside, there is a rapid flowing river.
One must watch their step as to not become trapped in the fierce waves crashing into the rocks that line it’s bed.
Along the river is a dirt path made from a familiar traveller.
She’s been here before — perhaps she is even here now.
The path leads down the river to the horizon. The sun is stuck setting in the most golden hour it knows.
Upon journeying further, it’s discovered that the river leads into the ocean.
The waves of the river collide into the ocean’s tide; the percussion section to this santuarious haven.
There, along the shore — she’s sitting cross-legged with hands high to meet the breeze. The crisp air hits her lungs and pulsates with the ebb and flow of the sea.
With soft, dark hair and deepened eyes — it’s evident she belongs here. She created this frozen, unseen moment.
A flash of darkness.
You’re blinking awake you
Fell asleep in the corner of the coffee shop again.
The weeks are growing longer and you’re so saturated with people that you drift away amongst them. You grasp for a moment away from the noise and
Across the room you meet her eyes.
The sweet and broken vastness for whom you travelled along the brain waves of in your other reality.
She hands a freshly crafted drink over with a forced smile.
The milk pitcher is rinsed. The espresso basket had been emptied.
She begins again.
Over and over you watch as she drifts away —
Beyond the bright yellow canola fields with trees of sweet lilac to recharge in the crawl space within the impossible tiny house
Which holds a river that leads to the ocean where
Isolation brings her consolation
As you pack up your things and politely wave out the door.