The House of Albums | t.s.

Comfort

Reputation lay awake in her bed, the dark silky sheets offering little refuge from the storm in her mind. After Poets arrival and finding out how drastically things had changed in Mother's life, there burned a faint unsettling pain in her chest.

Both her and Lover had been spiralling for unknown reasons. Both questioned everything that's happened and how it had ended the way it did. Neither sure why it upset them so much, yet both lashed out and fought about it.

Her lamp shone a dim light, highlighting the golden accent on her bedside table, but her eyes shifted to the book that caught her attention.

She raised a brow and pulled the covers down to free her hand and reach for the book while her other arm worked to prop herself up on her elbow, then move to rest her back against her headboard.

The dim light revealed the golden snakes decorating the black headboard standing out in stark contrast to the tiny white dots spattered across the dark board.

She picked up the book and grabbed her reading glasses to observe the cover. There was no title or indication of what the pages inside held. The book was old, protected inside the navy blue hard cover.

When she opened the book, a small paper slipped out, the burnt edges blending with her dark sheets. She picked up the small paper and flipped it over but found no words.

"What?" She was confused about who would go through the effort of burning the edges but not write anything on the paper.

She placed the letter on her bedside table while paging further down the book. She realised it was a book compiled with poems.

She paged aimlessly through the old pages until she came across a bookmark with burnt edges. She moved the bookmark and chose to read the marked poem.

***

The time will come when, with elation, you will greet yourself, arriving at your own door, in your own mirror, and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

***

She stared at the page for a while longer. This felt like a message sent just for her. She knew it wouldn't be Lover. Their fight from earlier left her tired and hurt.

Only after they agreed they weren't mad, just hurt, and that they would talk about it in the morning they retreated to their own rooms. The other albums had been shocked by the intensity of the fight and chose to retreat and stay out of their way.

"All except one." Reputation felt a surge of annoyance. She tossed the book to the edge of the bed where Lover's feet always rested and yanked her covers off as she jumped out of bed.

She rushed to the door, forgetting about the book, and as she threw her door open and it slammed against the coat rack behind it, she cursed under her breath, checking to see if anything was broken. Luckily, the coat rack only tipped and leaned against the wall.

She took a step back, and all she had to do was take one step out her door, and there stood the album she wanted to punch.

"Took you long enough," The oldest album pushed herself off the wall.