the two boys of the family living above my apartment are now officially bored of summer. lately, they’ve been doing things, loud things, with everything they can get their hands on, mostly dropping them on the floor above my bedroom.
in the met, they have this painting from a 17th century chinese album which they hardly put on rotation. in this page, the master portrayed a famous cataract that supposedly fell over nine pools. in representing these mythical bodies of water, the master just left them as negative spaces limned only by ashy plumes of ink washes.
“it’s like that?” my lame attempt at a joke as the guy fusses with non-existent creases in his shirt. he gives me his smile, the one where he snorts and shakes his head at the same time. “don’t worry,” i say after he asks me if he should lock the door. after he leaves, i know the door isn’t shut tight but i don’t move in my bed. i just wait there and wait and accept finally the silence.