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This is a green room. A greening room. It is meant to be the room that restores my soul and prepares me for reentry into the world. This is a light green room. A mild room. Easy on the eyes. Soft on the fingertips. Textured like Eggshell. That’s what they called the kind of paint at the hardware store before they mixed in the pigment and shook the calm colours violently together. It reminds me of a glade. That’s the word in my mind when I lie in this room looking through open, wakeful eyes at the tall walls that billow around me like willow tendrils. I’ve never been in a glade. Unless maybe on my childhood trip to Europe which I don’t remember but my parents might. I should ask my mother about any experience I might have with glades. And meadows while we’re on the subject. Because I was raised in cities, colours like gray and black and dirty are what I know about. This green, well, it’s something entirely outside my understanding of the world. I had hoped to germinate some peace inside myself by painting this room green. I wanted to discover some hidden depths, mossy and delightfully damp, to rest my burning cheeks on. A place I could apologize in and be heard. Be forgiven. Green is a forgiving colour. I haven’t been able to find what I’ve been looking for here though. All it’s turned out to be is a green room. More or less the same as it was before it became a glade. Still myself within it.
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