key to the moon

There is the key I found in front of the building where your flat is, on the terrace above the ground, in the middle of way to the steps of being away, I took it with me as the souvenir of the adventure in this summer, as the evidence of our connection being in the experiment to view another world narrated following personal archive.

It’s a key left there at the night when I was leaving his space, at the dimensional boundary where we accidentally fall into the circle of essential trace belongs to a tunnel into personnel memory. It’s like a key of moment capture, at the second on the way when I left the flat with pink curtain, I see this key as accidence, as coincidence, as transience moment of my personal life.

Out of my imagination at former stage about you, the scene of chaos in your room in front of my eyes clicked at my memory of my old place, where you stayed with me for several days and nights, cozy and small, with warm light, you are lying on the blanket, surrounded by the music we shared together.

In the beautiful small town, blue sky, cooling wind, mild moisture, when we didn’t know each other that much.

If the key has not seen or taken , it could be gone with waste. I wondered if someone would return searching for it, if the action of taking it causes someone’s loss. Will there be a person be regret about losing the key?

I took it with me, then it becomes a part of my memory as a sign, into my personal archive, when I was with you, to feel the connection with the world at another side, by little chance, to get the chance of opening a door that exists but we may never find, of a new world, that could be constructed by the conscious connection.

It’s at the juxtaposition that I jumped into this secret hole, I found objects on your table, white snake, nude Barbie doll, cute ceramic ghost, it reveals the other side of whom that I haven’t received completely before. The moments of being together, connects me within my subjectivity hided under the surface of the linear narration in my ordinary life:

In the long-time memory, constructed in virtuality of fragmented documents, chat history, pictures, and, by encounters of finite times that we saw each other, being together, without touching the other. Is the reality in the middle of narration and memory, in the virtuality or real physical life, it captures the moment till I found the lost key as an object of witnessing the story happened between us?

Our journey started long time ago, it’s later after the key I recall the first time I went to your place, the first time we met in Coventry, we took the night bus through the wood with accompany of dark blue sky. It was a halcyon journey. We have kept silent for a while, until we stepped into your space, where we opened the link to play music. It was a long journey for me, with in the tranquil, tensions, between us. When we sat on the floor, you showed me a square pillow on which written the ‘X’, the abbreviation of my name. It’s an adventure to be in your space, and it’s uncertain to get clues from your words to know about your feelings about me.

We lie down on your bed together, again, finally, after these many years.

Is it a chance the key appearing as one visible, physical object to be present with the possibility of transferring to another world? I remember before its appearance some terrible news on network we have received, the flood rushed into a city, destroy, reconstruction, people floating in the water, died, this triggered our talk about some dark memories from childhood. And at that night my friend had dreamt of a scorpion wrapped by frost and bite her, while she was not meant to beat it. Waked up in the second morning with you, I instinctively feel that scorpion connected with me as hiden in the ice age, from punishment of being prisoned from long-time ago.

I wish I was brave enough to ask you to let me be in your arms, we looked into each other’s eyes, I see your clarity and puzzles, and we fall asleep, I could hear your breath. We were close, while we were also keeping the distance for our own safety.

The key was there, it might be lost by someone else, or deserted by a stranger, who is not with the locker of it anymore. Look from its appearance, it might not be functioned anymore, part of its grinders disappears.

But it could be functioned as the object to unlock the chained emotion buried underneath the skin, as one section of representation from intimacy, the vulnerable feelings that are suppressing under the plane of ordinary narration, once if we were willing to open the door let the light be at night, for keeping the warm memory there.