I have an affinity for boys who stand like museums.
I like the long standing history that lies behind renovated walls and new attractions.
Walking in with wonder,
I am more inclined to listen to the older gentleman muttering to himself in the background.
The young and motivated guide, bless his heart, doesn't have the information I am looking for.
He lacks a poetic approach and; broken and experiential approach.
32 heartbeats a second time around.
The dust lifts from the lesser read books
And the abandoned questions.
The crease on your forehead unveils the lack of connoisseurs in your life.
You're plagued with tourists who come to see the inside and leave.
You've never seen the girl who breaks her trip in four, then three, then two, then adds one more week.
You're so used to people taking pictures
Never people putting the chairs back where they found them.
Leaving litter beneath the seats.
Leaving bruises of amusement to mark the points when they weren't listening.
They turn on the lights and all thats left is an empty hall
Surrounded by so much history
But not enough interesting enough to be learnt
Only visited.
Pebbles guiding them out, the same way guiding them in.
The feeling is familiar but its lost its mystery.
You don't know about the museum
You just know that it is there.
A brochure sitting in the bin
Another wafting in the breeze
Its over. The magic is gone.
They are done with the experience.
You've never met a girl who couldn't go to a museum as a kid.
When wanting to go in, echoes how much you want to know.
How much you want to share.
How you want to put the pieces housed by a museum together.
Form lineage. Form a home.
Form a pact with the silence.
Respect the echoes that protect that exhales of relief.
Understand the exhales that bring about comfort.
Guided by the hollow dust tunnel leading you into a whirlwind of comprehension.
I have an affinity for boys who stand like museums.
I like the long standing history that lies behind renovated walls and new attractions.
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