Third floor, first door to your left.

by Somethinger

Please take me back to the third floor.

To the 17th step that open to a door.

Always, always open for me.

When I can stand, sit, lie down, and stare

At the projector that is supposed to hang in the air.

Where I can hide beneath the table.

Lost in a book, lost in the music,

Lost in his words of calm and calamity at once.

Lost in love for everything around me.

Including the holes that let the wires through

And the electric sockets that never worked

Except when you needed them the most.

But that’s the tiniest miracle that occurs in the room.

Bigger things conspire here.

Footsteps that hang in the air

Words that fly and hit you

And an inexhaustible joy, through tears

And deep set fears

Where a pen can draw the world 

A phone call can pile the hopes

And one set of shoulders can build the stage for a hundred.

It’s a room of requirement

A room of struggle

A room that flowers in my mind

2 years after I last stepped into it

Through my darkest days

And make me feel like I can feel again

A room where you sit under the shade

The protection of a family that has little to do with relations.

Take me back to the stacked chairs- more of a throne

A board- our letters, an unending marker that runs dry every minute

How many passions can one ink at once?

The drawers with the broken handle.

And the cupboard with the treasure of papers and files.

And cutters and tape and more paper.

An idol on the top-most shelf 

It wasn’t a room.

It was a factory of inspiration.

It was a chamber of spilled secrets

Please take me back to the third floor

Of a past of pride and a future of hope

And with every year, a new dream.

Please take me back to the third floor

Where the ideas and the fascination

Rushed through our blood

Flooded the passage

Leaked into the corridors

And poured out into the world.

Where every day, the first ray of the sun shone on us.

Please take me home,

Take me to the third floor.