Noise in a vastly empty space pierces silence like sudden silence deafens a vastly noisy space. I prefer the empty space, each noise given discernable meaning and placement. The wind may whistle as it steals through the broken window or whine as it finds its way down around the rotted door jamb. The bits and pieces leftover in this decaying structure crunch under my feet as I take gentle, purposeful steps.
Rain finds solace on these dirty floors, collecting without absorbing, pooling at the will of gravity. Paint peels, falling to the floor. Fading, like the color in old photographs of my parents and grandparents.
I came here to look for a memory. I’m not sure when I lost it. I only know it’s lost because I went to retrieve it and it’s gone. It’s not hazy, not missing pieces, the entire experience has been wiped clean. I have no connection to this particular structure, but where better for lost things to collect themselves than a building that has been forgotten itself? A place to exist in solitude with plenty to explore, where the outdoors pays a visit indoors and one can come or go on a whim. A forgotten memory is just another drop in the gravity pool of tenuous objects left behind by people who are too busy or careless or overwhelmed, I suppose.
I imagine my memory was stored in a warehouse much like this one and the warehouse in my brain may be in similar condition. All of the muscles and chemicals and tissues and nerves as the wood, metal, concrete and glass of this once functional facility.
Perhaps the memory I’ve been searching for is better off in a place like this, rather than in my brain. Or maybe it is I who am better off not remembering this memory? It is my understanding that brains do strange things to protect their host.
I think I’ll stay here awhile longer anyway, I like the solitude.