The Room of My Heart

It’s dark in here, this narrow hall. The walls are tight and I barely have to put my arms out a bit to feel my fingers brushing against the cool, rough concrete. My breath shoots out in puffs of frozen air and I shiver, goose-flesh breaking out across my skin. The floor is wet and I must have lost my shoes, because the water licks at my ankles. It feels as if it is rising, breaks in small waves along my calves, and retreats, pulling at my toes. I close my eyes, as if that would help, but all around me is a sensation of feeling. Behind it all, a steady throb.

The beat that forms the music, and I need these things, these fearful things, to guide me there. With each step in, the beat grows faster, louder. Soon the water is up at my hips and I’m crunched over, the ceiling lower here. I’m bent and wet and the waves are slapping at my belly and I expect my lips are blue from cold. But the beat is fast. The beat is loud. By the time I reach the door, can feel the soft wood, worn by waves, it is almost deafening. The pounding has seeped into my mind, broken my defenses.

I open the door, pull myself inside, and use every ounce of my strength to push that door shut again.

And all is quiet. The floor is dry, smooth, dark wood that stretches the expanse of the room. My bare feet leave small wet footprints behind. Softly the music begins, stringed instruments to accompany the soft beat. I take a deep breath and the air is warm. It smells like an old book store, and I see the walls are filled with bookshelves almost bursting with stories. At the end of the room is a fireplace with roaring flames and a large red sofa. The room is barely lit, but that fire puts off enough light to chase away the shadows.

There are no windows here, no one to see into my space. I strip away the nastiness of the day, the sludge that I seem to carry with me. I stand naked in this space, before the fire, and let it dry away the remains of that horrid walk. I curl up onto that couch and my blanket is there, the one I sleep with at night. I wrap it around my body and lie back, letting the music soothe me and the words come as I hear them.

Beside me is a table, and on it, stacks of parchment paper. As I start to talk, the words appear on each page, filling the space until every page is consumed by them. Later I will scoop them up. I will place them in a binding and onto one of the many shelves. But for now, I will stay here, by the fire.



To visit more heart rooms, please check out Jennie’s post.

32 thoughts on “The Room of My Heart

  1. Such a warm and comfortable space.
    The smell of iron ink freshly written on crisp parchment. Dust and books scenting the air with words that come to you like music. A writers symphony.

    Loved reading this. thank you.


  2. Oh I adore your room. I love that it smells like an old book store, and OH I would do anything to have my words appear on a page as I spoke them! An interesting twist with no windows….


  3. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh I got goosebumps at the ‘smell of old bookstore’ – when I went to the GORGEOUS one in Worthing, I actually went around, pressing my face into the shelves and just SNIFFING. It was amazing.

    I couldn’t work out how to get music into mine, and I didn’t want a gadget, so the sound of the sea will suffice.

    And yeah – where are your windows.

    Mine has no mirrors, but I didn’t write that. But there aren’t any. Anywhere.


      1. I freeeeeek when there’s a window which is dark on the outside and light on the inside and I’m in the room. I feel like the spotlight is on me, and I hate it. I get way stroppy, REALLY quick. Water I love. Darkness and small spaces are like crack to me. I want them, almost as much as I want the beach and the openness and the light. It is a small, precious, delightful moment to be hiding somewhere cramped and snug and nookish, with the quiet of dark wrapping all around me…maybe something there about being contained…who knows.


          1. Oh I shall, and I shall glory in it. You know what I’d be keen to try? One of those sensory deprivation flotation tank things. Just to see if it freaks me out or not.

            But then I also want to get tasered, so….


            1. I think I would go stark raving mad in a deprivation tank. I think it would be the final thing to kick me over the edge into permanent ant total madness. I also have no want to get tased. I’ve seen that happen to someone. Sweet lord…


              1. I’d need to find the quiet part of my mind, forsure, and that might be quite a challenge. OR, I might lay there in the darkness, with just the sound of my pulse in my ears, beginning to feel every cell come alive, and turn inwards, finding new universes inside my mind, and watch them unfurl and blossom in a space where I couldn’t see my hand in front of my eyes. It would be like floating away into space…wow!

                And HAVE YOU? What was it like? I’ve only seen videos, but I’ve heard that you get the most INCREDIBLE high right afterwards, from all the endorphins.


                1. That sounds amazing, but I still don’t think I could do it.

                  And yes, I’ve seen someone being tased. It didn’t seem like they got a high from it.

                  They pissed themselves.


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