The Room

„ A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction “, wrote Virginia Woolf. 

In this sense, it’s not bad to be the one who cries wolf. 

Four walls and a roof 

And a door to keep the world out and the thoughts in. 

A space within space that belongs to no one else. 

Just like the earth is a space within space that belongs just to us. 

 

Once upon a time. That’s how fairy tales begin, once upon a time...

Once upon a time there was a woman with a room. 

The room was made of glass, and no one but she could see it. 

But it was there, and that’s all that matters. 

From within its transparent walls she could look at the world, take it apart, and build it anew. 

What she saw and what she imagined intertwined until they were indistinguishable from one another. 

 

“You’re wrong” she would scream at the world, the one that wasn’t hers. 

And those who’d hear would yell back “you’re with us”. 

They were hurtful words. Unfair. Untrue. She was in her room. 

Tears would roll down her cheeks, and with each tear she strengthened the glass walls. 

 

You don’t throw stones when you live in a glass house. 

You don’t throw stones when you live in a house. 

You don’t throw stones when you live. 

You don’t throw stones. 

 

You take the stones, and you build a room. 

A room of your own. 

A space within  space. 

Four walls and a roof 

And a door to keep the world out and the thoughts in.

 

E.S.

*written as part of a solo violin performance

 

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