Signet
by: Robert Zimmerman

Everyone has a certain place that they kindle the memory of, deep in their heart, sometimes without knowing, whether it is a place of delight or one of haunting misery. The thought of this that time, that place, resurfaces and can turn any day into a twilight reverie. For me, time long passed still chooses me for its haunt: a cell-like room; to this day, it brings evidence of a tormented soul to the surface.

The thought of those forlorn walls… Dark, brooding… walls. People worked their life into them, taking time to tally off the days. Chipped paint half-heartedly clung to the truths the wall had seen. So many lives had gone passed in that room before me: I knew it was my time. A window stood unaided on those walls. It held its dreadful post on the wall reverse the door, but it shed dignity into the desecrated place.

I suppose it could be called a floor, though it seemed to have been used like an oversized shelf many a time. Where the edges of the floor shot up to wall, where the once-proud trim now stood tapering, the muck clung, parasitic and foreboding. Some may have had meaning, but it meant nothing to me and invaded my inner being. It stole the life from the night sky and the joy of the sun, but it could never pilfer my inner light.

As the sun set, the room seemed more serene, though still barred and locked to itself. The door seemed less at guard, the walls less menacing, and as that light shone through the window, it glowed and exuded an aura of sheer serenity into my stall-like quarters… But as the sunset was taken and twilight put in it’s place, my strange inner peace was consumed with it. I suppose that vibrant red-orange was what kept me sane those days.

Such memories clutter many minds in our fair world. In time, we build barriers to shield ourselves from those terrible memories, though they are never perfect and can be torn down with the slightest reminder. Truly wonderful memories can warm a numbed heart and for a time, a mask of falsity envelops it. But they, the memories, stay an Eternal Wind always aging, but never too old.