It is a wooden shelter for the arts. You live there. You own it, perhaps inheriting the shelter from your father.
My friends and I, we show up at this wooden shelter for the arts. We scatter around and among its beauty of diverse faces, and also dissolve in our own.
When the dim light is the only thing that remains, I linger. You linger too. Sitting in one of the wooden chairs. Or wandering around and inspecting the beauty in flat walls and sharp corners. No more chatter. We settle with the silence.
Have you sung a song that night? I have no memories, but I know we spoke to each other, with your shelter for the arts closed, with everyone asleep, with only the dim light left.
A secret already known and a possibility yet to be sung spread out before the day. The sun rises. The only lingering darkness are the shadows of palm trees and the space your exotic body takes up on the ground. I detect your presence. Instantly, I know.
“You can transform now, it’s not a secret anymore.” And you do. I see you have long, wavy hair, with a face who reminds me of a local musician I adore. You could be him, he could be you. We sit with a view of greens before us, up on the terrace, as the dance of sunshine plays on our skin. We fill each other with words. More so, you speak with a melody that is possible.
Have you sung a song that day? I guess. From the stillness of that day, something moved. From the glance of the sunlight, something showed.
My friends and I, we are bound to leave. Coming from our morning stroll, we trace our path back to the shelter for the arts to say goodbye. Almost near, a few more steps to the wooden shelter, out of the blue, a snake stuns us. Its massive, black head swiftly emerges out of the door. Fear feels hot and sudden. We back away, terrified at the sight of this unexpected creature. From behind, I see my friends run. I can’t run.
So I walk. The snake’s long black body follows me along the narrow pavement. Its head brushes my right leg like a dog, as if guiding that gripping fear. I keep on walking and walking. I relax with this fear. Walking and walking. Then we approach the corner of the street. Then a pause.
From a distance, I catch a sight of my friends’ frightful faces as the snake remains beside me.
Almost calm, a few more breaths here at the corner, you appear out of the blue, out of the fear, out of the strange display of everything around, and suddenly you sing a song. You strum a ukulele and you smile as you sing the song. The snake fades from the picture, perhaps disguised as stiff stones below. The astonishment remains. But from an astonished fear, thanks to this brighter image, it loosens into an astonished hope at the corner.
Then I woke up.
You are the two towers I see now from here, from this corner.