Setting

Sunlight dimmed by a sheer reddish rather phallic pattern tapestry revealed the 30 by 30 square space that would give the impression of a fairly comfortable quarter if every inch hadn’t been bulging with her keepsakes, intimately freckled with feathers, crystals, dried flowers and bones. Each piece so invaluably precious for providing its own sacred story, inspiring visceral recollections, allowing for a moment revival of those significant sentimental memoirs. On the immediate right an unpainted wooden wine rack fashioned as a shoe tower presses against a 4-foot pale blue loft bed that hovers over piles of sooty books; most opened only once, enough to peak interest, mark the page and begin to collect dust.

Positioned horizontal, yet less than an inch from touching the bottom left bedpost alongside the lone windowed wall rests another equally cluttered elongated rectangular shelf. Nestled beside it, a chewed up fur peppered wicker cats castle proudly soaks in solar tones, with quarantined warmth available for an unfairly few short hours per day thanks to the apartments’ awkward architectural position upon the shady hillside it was built. Directly leftward leans a stunning full-length timber tinted immaculate condition vintage mirror, rooted into the dirt colored carpet with feet like the talons of an archaeopteryx. Adjacent to and hardly suppressing itself behind that perfect piece of ruminating reflective glass echoed the rooms’ main attraction; her triple door deep extra wide forged-for-royalty walk-in closet, hinges completely removed to assure 100 percent wardrobe assessment from every angle.

Focus fixes on gracefully draped garbs deliberately divided by an algorithm that begged for a legend which would read ‘fabric type, translucence, length of sleeve, formal to casual spectrum consideration, and most importantly pattern,’ or the flipped mindset when manifesting nonchalance to just smush everything in a drawer (of course substituting legend #1 with seasonal specific scrimmage codes). Whoever blueprinted this mad labyrinth of matrix matriculation was indeed the OCD champion of their very own semi-psychotic circus; but could anyone conceive the intrinsic conditioning, or is excessive organization merely an alternate platform for therapeutic meditation, designed with visibility exclusive only to those saturated in similar syndromes? Gazing leftmore and almost closing the full circle scopic tour stands her mother’s 5-foot, 4-shelved, floral adorned flawlessly preserved cherry oak vanity, forever flaunting its heir-luminous chamber radiating grandeur.