Day 377 & 378- The Old Man

It was more than 14 days after Taiwan before I found the courage to return to the Abandoned House. That made an entire month that I had not been there. 

I was afraid to go back because something inexplicable had happened the day I first saw the inside; something that spooked me so bad that I had thought I would never want to see that house again. 

Remember that one incredible week? The one that resulted in those amazing flowers transforming the once godforsaken facade of this house? I still cannot explain how I did what I did. I was working so long and hard that I was in a daze after a few days. In that time, I didn't even see the inside of the house or at least remember any of it. The inside was so dark and dinghy that I just wanted to stay outside all the time. 

How did I keep warm? Where did I sleep? Did I cook my food? All these questions that I could later piece the answers to only after I saw what was inside the house. 

Like this old stove.

Or the ladder that reached the window.

A portrait of an old man?

There was no doubt in my mind when I saw the portrait that this man must have been the owner and builder of this wondrous haven. You know what I mean, don't you, when you knew something purely out of instincts; something completely void of logic but you knew in your bones to be true. I knew too that  he was the artist who had painted the murals. The carpenter, the plumber, the engineer. He was the House. 

I saw the chair last and that was when I knew he was also the gardener I met 20 years ago. Chills ran down my spine and suddenly snippets of our long conversation that afternoon came rushing back at me. 

My dreams, my loves, my sanctuary. Things that should matter but which I have pushed back to such a deep, dark corner of my mind in the past 20 years that I have forgotten they were what could make me really happy. A sense of waste and deep despair came over me and I began to sob uncontrollably.

I ran then, confused and sad, never once looking back at the house.