The walls of the room still were dark, a gray of almost black that once had felt as home but one day, life-season change, it no longer felt as so.
In innermost room of heart and home, she no longer wanted darkness. She felt and knew a different hue, embraced its changing as it colored, and little-by-little—in resolve and follow-actions—she knew it would become.
She looked at the words upon the wall and smiled still from their say. Upon near-empty wall she envisioned shelves filled with stories held—ones she knew, ones she didn’t but hoped one day she would.
And of the gray, a color change to rich and romance; an enlivening of aura and too paradox of settled peace—spirit of home and heart in hue of a love saved and stored in innermost place for the spirit that it held.
In dark and early of her rise, she lit a candle upon the table, natural wax of flaxen hue shone in take of flame at end. After, she lit another, and then another, on and on until all on table were aglow and room illumed in light and waved wick-dance on walls and ceiling overhead.
She imagined details of a want in clarity and illume of encandled ideal: to be held, raised, and brought to sit on table’s edge before; to be kissed and guided back in lay, body long, across the wooden plane; to be loved, body stretched in arms above, bracing then brought to side in hold of table’s edge through make of the passion—spirit shared—in focused center of encandled dream and room of romance hue.
She stared upward to the ceiling, on focal points and circled spreads of candled light in shine to high. There rose a warmth to face, to neck, upon high spread of chest under collar’s bladed line, and she knew by the warmth her skin painted then in hue near to, but softer, than romance hue she dreamed on the walls as she blushed in dream of the light and soft warmth change from different vantage-lie.
Slowing breath, breathing deep; easing and releasing sudden feeling in the thought, she sat in chair at table—mind and spirit calming—and began to read. A simple passage found her.
To her, it spoke:
“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.”
It was never too late to start again, to create that of which one dreams, and so she did beginning with room: with storied shelves and walls of romance hue.