Watching the
Shadows Move
Artist
Breathe by
Visual accompaniment: transparent veil
The late sun came through the blinds. It laid long stripes across the hardwood. You sat in the armchair with your back entirely straight. The light hit the shoulder of your cotton dress. I stood by the hallway entrance. My hands rested deep inside my pockets. I watched the slow rise of your chest. I didn't want to step onto the rug. I knew the floorboards would creak if I shifted my weight.
I turned my head to look at the wall. I focused on a framed print hanging above the radiator. It showed a boat caught in the surf. The ocean looked wild enough to spill over the border. I stared at the boat. Then I looked back at you. You were breathing in the room with me. But you looked perfectly still. I kept quiet. I felt like someone looking into a strange house from the sidewalk.
The three feet of floor between us felt impossible to cross. The sun moved across your lap. It caught the creases in your skirt. I followed the edge of a shadow creeping along the hem. It was the only thing moving around us. I traced that dark line with my eyes. Saying your name out loud would ruin the quiet. I kept my mouth shut.
"That sound settled between us like a fence."
You leaned forward. You dipped your brush into a tin can on the table. The water swirled. The bristles tapped against the metal rim. That sound settled between us like a fence. I stayed exactly where I was. I felt the heavy soles of my shoes pressing into the wood. I watched the clear water turn cloudy. I waited for the sun to drop another inch down the wall. I wanted things to stay exactly like this.
When the light finally leaves
The room got darker. The stripes on the floor pulled back towards the window and vanished. You put the brush down next to the tin can. You turned your head. You looked at me standing by the doorway. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your wrist. I took my hands out of my pockets. I took one step onto the rug. The wood didn't make a sound. You said it was getting dark. I nodded. We didn't reach for the lamps. We just let the room fill up with the evening.
Leaving the Room
Waxahatchee
Right Back to It
The quiet pull of returning to someone before you have even decided to.
Julia Jacklin
Less Of A Stranger
The slow, careful work of letting someone become familiar.
Iron & Wine
All in Good Time (feat. Fiona Apple)
Two people sitting with the distance between them, trusting it will close on its own.
Cassandra Jenkins
Hard Drive
Everything you have been carrying, finally allowed to run quietly in the background.
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