‹ Prequel: In the Month of May
One-Hundred Days
Day Fifty-Five: Do Not Disturb
I’ll sit alone in this hotel room with the “do not disturb” sign hanging on the door, a sign used by more than one person, undoubtedly, but tonight it shall be used for the means of a different action. It shall be used to help a person think without the interruptions of life and others who are determined to get in the way of finding one’s self. It shall be used for writing useless prose in red paint onto blank hotel walls, once white but stained yellow from nicotine and filth. It shall be used to write myself onto the wall from which I will never stray. It shall be used to leave a piece of me inside of this hotel room, as it has been used before with so many other places, in the attempt to leave a piece of me in each part of the world.
I’ll sit alone and write myself onto these walls, going over nicotine and the memories of other people. I can see each one, each with the “do not disturb” sign hanging from their necks like a diamond pendant. It sparkles beneath the dim light as their memories intertwine to hold hands and bodies. Their heavy breathing echoes through the room, memories brought to life once again by simple paint with fragments of blood mixed into its once white exterior. I write myself onto these walls and write the memories I see of the others inhabiting them. Their hearts and souls walk along the molding, a trapeze act worthy of a standing ovation, as they watch on invisible from their high perches. I watch with them as others leave themselves behind inside of these walls.
I hear the sign scraping against the door as the wind weaves its way through metal beams and hollowed hallways. I hear fingers sliding across the door handle, and the way their breath echoes against the metal door slides into the room like a ghost. I close my eyes to hear their voice and meet only silence. My lungs clutch into breathing, slow and spastic. I wait for the door to be opened as I hear a key being turned.
But to my surprise, it’s you. The one person I would never want to get away from, and the one I never would want to forget. I sit cross-legged on the bed covered in paint and questions, and you walk in covered in memories and words. I watch the people dancing along the molding whisper about you as you lay me back onto the bed. I watch your eyes and your smile and your words as you whisper about how much you missed me.
I watch the people dance along the molding and you keep the “do not disturb” sign hanging on the door, to live out its true purpose, to keep two people together and no one else inside the silence of memories painting themselves across these walls.
I’ll sit alone and write myself onto these walls, going over nicotine and the memories of other people. I can see each one, each with the “do not disturb” sign hanging from their necks like a diamond pendant. It sparkles beneath the dim light as their memories intertwine to hold hands and bodies. Their heavy breathing echoes through the room, memories brought to life once again by simple paint with fragments of blood mixed into its once white exterior. I write myself onto these walls and write the memories I see of the others inhabiting them. Their hearts and souls walk along the molding, a trapeze act worthy of a standing ovation, as they watch on invisible from their high perches. I watch with them as others leave themselves behind inside of these walls.
I hear the sign scraping against the door as the wind weaves its way through metal beams and hollowed hallways. I hear fingers sliding across the door handle, and the way their breath echoes against the metal door slides into the room like a ghost. I close my eyes to hear their voice and meet only silence. My lungs clutch into breathing, slow and spastic. I wait for the door to be opened as I hear a key being turned.
But to my surprise, it’s you. The one person I would never want to get away from, and the one I never would want to forget. I sit cross-legged on the bed covered in paint and questions, and you walk in covered in memories and words. I watch the people dancing along the molding whisper about you as you lay me back onto the bed. I watch your eyes and your smile and your words as you whisper about how much you missed me.
I watch the people dance along the molding and you keep the “do not disturb” sign hanging on the door, to live out its true purpose, to keep two people together and no one else inside the silence of memories painting themselves across these walls.