The blue room
The blue room draws you in. It offers the refuge you seek. Its material construction diffuses all noise. You are neither disturbed nor distracted by what transpires in your midst. Such is the comfort it provides.
Days do not matter within its confines. What was, shall be. Time loses its meaning when all you can do is stare at those walls. Its passage is not paused though. Each day leaves its mark on the body. Every second is impressed on the skin to show you, whenever you muster the courage to look at the mirror, just how late you have been.
The blue room remembers your moments. Records it keeps to remind those passing by how long it has remained standing. In its space are stored memories of bygone days. It keeps track of your perfect score in a particular category: of dreams never to materialise. Those are your wants: the adventures you did not embark on. They are the characters you never became and the roles you did not assume. It stood there watching them go unnoticed by the travellers of this world.
You appear not, when all is a single colour, no matter how actively you try and how strongly you want it. There is no pattern to be discerned. When you speak, they wonder how is it that a building can have a voice. People are afraid of haunted places, after all. Instead of inferring that you might be there somewhere, they act in response to their deep-seated fears. You are irrelevant in your invisibility.
The blue room absorbs it all. It has inexhaustible patience. It wants you to remain in place. Only then can it perform its function of protecting you, of shielding you from whatever danger lurks in the corner. From your daily routine it will remove any sense of urgency. You shall not go anywhere. There is no need to. What you have is complete. It shall suffice for a lifetime.
Plans for tomorrow can be revised to become aspirations for the week after, which in turn will be rolled over to a future date that remains elusive. The hopes are distorted accordingly, with pragmatic considerations woven into their narrative. A few are enough to bring an abrupt end to the story that would otherwise develop. Not even there do you become another.
The blue room loves you. It tells you that it has desire for you alone. Special you feel when you are noticed, even if it is only by a structure. It has a life of its own. A logic that defies and then overrides your volition. It enters your mind as shapeshifter extraordinaire to become friend and lover whose name you keep forgetting.
The blue room questions your judgement. There is nowhere to go when all you can think of is informed by monotonous surroundings. The door is right there. Step outside whenever you want only to discover that you jump back in. Without a plan, you revert to your default condition, effectively working against the goal you never defined. As you do that, hope is lost. It feels you are standing while running.
The blue room is you. It extends to form a fine line which connects at the other end to become a circle. There is no outside, no inside, no before, no after. It is the everlasting and ubiquitous presence of a hue; the tyranny of one. You switch off the lights to not notice it anymore. Yet you know that it and you are the same.