The White

What does it feel to experience true love ? 

Well, I can answer that but first I will say what it feels in the experience of relationships. 

Relationships are like a knocking at a window. You are beneath it, it is your roof. The knockings sound on your roof, some quieter, some distant and less meaningful ; such as the wave of a  stranger you see often at the bus stop - a mother. Some much more heavy, such as one of a sister missed by her brother. With each knock, in its various numbers, comes a person, and with knock is a summons. And what is summoned ; where your heart is for them, and theirs for you. What it is you need, what they are here to take - they need. Not all knocks are heard. The room you are in is white. No windows aside from the glass one above you, no doors, no, no exit. This room is you, everything you are, and this is your glass roof, and with each knock is a summons. There are cans, white cans stacked on top each other against the wall. All white on the outside, the silver rim all around. The funny thing is, you know what's in them. You've just never considered the possibility of anything better than this. Unwilling to change the amazing you you've always been. This room is all white, and full of light, and the glass roof no one has ever come in. You know this for sure. The sounds of distant knocking and some close enough you can almost feel the echo pass through you. Every knock you know, familiar tho' the eyes never meet. Until one day, there's one more  knock than there was before. You listen, a knock knock knock. You know what this is. Then Knock. Knock. Knock. I know what this is and it scares me. I look up to my glass roof. He stands there looking back. Space between him and the crowds that never cease watching yet never see. He sees me. He knocks ... (*pause*) me off. my feet. He takes his fists and what seems to be jest is no longer, no longer knocks. He pounds, he jumps, he stomps. My heart races. The White, pearl white tin cans, with the rim of silver all around, drop. to the ground. The funny thing is, you think you know what's in them, they keep falling. The glass crocks. The glass cracks. "Stop !" I shout, and I don't know, I don't know. Am I the only one ? Am I the only one ? The only one to stop him ? To try ? "Why ?" he sees me, he asks me. The only worlds I can think of is "you'll hurt me", so I say them. " You'll hurt me." And I think maybe he'd say them but if he never says them I'll always say he did. " You're just afraid " he stands, looks, he says, his eyes told me. And again, and only, he knocks. Nothing like it before, he falls in. And though all the glass shatters, he's alone. The world slows, my glass roof in millions of pieces, reflecting colors they never have, &' sharp, sturdy &' firm no longer relevant, they're gone. &' I see them go helplessly as time returns to its own placement ; it'd been displaced. He falls, he hits, the cans open. He laughs - the new spirit to be in my own room takes from behind his back, tucked, a brush. Takes a can, and without my say, turns the walls into vibrant, into iridescent , into 'multi-living, dramatic &' vivid, angelic intellectual inspiration. He turns to me after all that much, just a wall he had covered of five. "Come on" he moves, he stands, he's still &' tall &' living - taken me. "Take it off" he says. Rude! "What!? How dare you creep?" I say, he laughs. He takes the brush untouched by color yet moist by touch. Beneath his hand the 'live-fullness appears. The tin is cold &' more white up close, the tin is cold as I release it the white melts away, off the walls. The White melts away. &' I see now. I see now. -This is what it'd be for me. - And an entire world, taken as one color, one color covered 'what-all. At once, the knocking we never get to hear is seen.  And like never before, you fall.