Then one day, you showed up again.
Knock knock.
Hello.
I see you've learned to ask before entering.
Do come in and sit down.
It is quite a beautiful day, isn't it?
But that is not what you came to speak about, I see.
I must say I've tried avoiding it, yet my house refuses.
Let's begin again.
My name? That hardly matters.
But I hear they call you the Player; why?
Is it your occupation?
Is it what you do to the homes you enter?
So I brought words, and you brought words,
And we placed them on the table to share.
Oh, I look back on that day with great joy,
Remembering those moments when we were both someone else.
Ourselves.
Would you like to see a few of the rooms?
One you have stopped by already, on your first "visit."
But there is so much more, hoards of words left unsaid,
Shelves chock full of stories, legends, and of secrets.
I took you to most of the rooms:
The happy, the sad, the joyously glorious,
Even the ones with the deepest, most unseen emotions.
But I fell too quickly in the rush of new things, of discoveries.
You've mentioned over and again that one room,
The deep, ocean-blue with its small, silver handle.
I always brushed away the thought, but this time...
The words almost came tumbling out.
I've apologized so many times; maybe you could not hear?
The house rose up in anger, pushed you roughly out.
Tried so hard, so hard to calm its irate mood.
And you never returned.
Now looking back, perhaps I should've warned you,
Should have told you this house is not to be taken lightly.
I wish that I would have told you, it requires a brave soul to walk among these rooms.
But most of all, I wish I had destroyed the room when I had the chance.
Thus it has come to this, that I'm waiting,
Waiting to see if you are as brave as I'd thought to come again.
Hopefully, in the event that you do come again, we shall meet as old friends,
And the blue room might be forgotten.
