Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I love seeing the inside of someone’s room for the first time. The objects that people surround themselves with are so indicative of them as a person. It’s like meeting their parents but more intimate because there are secrets inside of a room that even the people who birthed you will never be exposed to. Walking into someone’s room for the first time is a heightened sensory experience. The fabric that their sheets are made of, the tone of their lamp, the scent in their oil burner, their record collection (or lack there of) could amount to a novel sized biography. Then there are all of the minor details that require further enquiry - like where that photo was taken, or what song is it that your jewellery box plays when you open it, or who that quote is written by or what country that brass crucifix came from. You want to be able to feel them seeping though the walls like condensation on the bathroom mirror when you have a really hot shower, and you want to come out feeling that condensation on your own skin. That is the moment when you truly know them.

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