A Letter

Dear Room at Kairos Retreat,

I miss you already. It's 11:20, and even though I know that at this point in time I wouldn't be in you even if I were still at the Kairos retreat, (I would be in a discussion or something) I still think of you now. Your paper-thin, whitewashed walls were a comfort to me. You had two chairs and a rather comfortable bed. And even though my sheets didn't like to stay where I damn well put them (they didn't fit very well. But they're called 'fitted sheets'... I will complain about this to Someone In Charge...) I liked your bed. And your little bathroom with the loud buzzing light annoyed the crap out of me, but I still liked the little curtain in the window. Something that I didn't get was the position of the mirror in the bathroom. Why is it that I had to sit on the sink to be able to see myself in the little mirror? Is it, perhaps, a design flaw or yours? Of course, I shouldn't blame you. I miss you too much. Do you know what I miss most about you? Your heater. Within five seconds of turning on, it would make me warm and fuzzy. I considered unscrewing it from the wall and taking it home with me, but then I realized that that would cause a little bit of disturbance at the retreat center, and people would frown at me. And in any case, it wouldn't have fit in my big, beautiful, blue bag, anyway. Do you know what lies outside your walls? Surely you must. All of the thin trees were barely five feet from each other, and although it was "winter" and the trees that weren't ceder trees weren't green, it was beautiful and shady anyway. But back to the point. You, my favorite little room, were where I wanted to be when I wasn't in a discussion or with my friends. You weren't just a place for me to sleep; you were a place to be relaxed in, to stop for a moment and think, read, knit, or play Nicole. I brought my guitar with me in hopes that perhaps she wouldn't be so lonely without me. I think she liked being there. I played her a bit, and she didn't really leave the room. Did you have any good conversations with her?

Well, Room, I do miss you dearly. But I'm still a little bit overwhelmed by all of the scenery changes. I'm back in my own room right now, and while I'll always think of you fondly, I'm sure that being here, and not there, is for the best. Perhaps I'll write to you some more when my thoughts were a little more together. Perhaps tomorrow.

Fondly remembering you,
Stefanie.