The Room of Solace
Unfortunately, or not, but when I think about the meaningful place for
me, nothing comes out. Except one room in my former house. All my
childhood was there. Almost my every birthday was spent there. When my
friends came they also preferred to stay exactly in that room. The
room saw my happiness, my anger, my tears, my excitement – in short
words, every single moment of my life.
As much as I remember myself, there always were only two colors:
wallpaper's peach color and furniture's wooden color. The desk,
wardrobe, door, even floor, practically everything has in wooden
color. But to be more honest and specific they actually were made of
wood. Also there was one really huge and wide window, and right under
it there was a super long battery that literally was made from three
smaller ones. So the room always was in warm and had lots of light,
and not only due to enormous window but also because the room came on
the south-east side.
The room was on the first floor, so anytime you look through the
window on the street it always gave a feeling of having a stroll, it
could seem like you are already into the yard. If the window was
opened you could feel the smell of the grass and asphalt – a strange
aroma cocktail, but I liked it so much. I even moved my desk near to
it just to be as close to the window as it possible. And when I had
difficult times, or just needed some time to think things over, I
leaned back in my chair and put my eyes on the yard. And indeed it was
helping and healing but I still don't have even a tiny clue how
exactly to share those feelings. When I just needed some space to be
alone for a while, or to cry my tears out, or to concentrate on
something important, I couldn't find a more comfortable place. And I
probably never will.
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