The Sacred Space

Dimly lit with one lantern hanging above our heads, the loathsome walls were grey, and the cold air reeking of chemicals made the room agonizing to sit in — for ordinary people at least. I glared into his eyes, my eyelids were glued to the sockets, it’s what I always do when I look at people. He was calm, at least he looked calm.

“A perfectionist is what people usually define me by. I have surpassed countless when it came to art. ‘Pick one of his works and study it, that’s how to get an A,’ said a professor. That was how good I am. I was however never satisfied.”

“They call me gifted, but all I’ve ever seen when I look into a mirror is a damned mediocre,” I spoke with a soft voice, the kind of voice I’ve always used; mellow yet clean — and cold. “And I knew all those compliments were empty. I couldn’t care less for words, but the feeling when I stroke a paintbrush on a canvas, the resistance of sculpting clay when I mould it, and the sound wood and marble make when I chisel them; I thought I could just keep doing arts forever.”

“Yet I was never fulfilled,” I couldn’t keep my voice soft. “And there you are! You and your blue eyes that hold me captive! Countless have I tried to capture your elegance with oil and canvas, and endlessly have I cut myself trying to carve you out of marble, yet YOU were never really in the art!”

I felt the pounding in my heart which is now louder than my own voice. The reek of chemicals forced me to breathe lightly as it burned my nasal cavity just by inhaling. I decided to take a long breath despite that. Silence fell as he sat there, listening to me without blabbering a word.

“Remember the first time we met?” the soothed nerves eventually softened my voice. “Your eyes sparkled like stars as you giggled at how shy I was. You picked me up from the corner of the room, and we took off for a night ride. The wind in my hair and your hand on mine, Bleu de Chanel lingered on the side of my neck, and I knew that I was falling in love with you. I have to make you last forever.

I’ve spent sleepless nights perfecting your portraits, checking and rechecking every stroke. Yet something’s not quite right, but I can’t put my finger on it. I am haunted by this intangible imperfection! You have put this perfectionist on his knees! Such feat that not even the masters dare dream of,” hyperventilation started again as I ranted. " I was frustrated beyond words, I kept creating more of your depictions with oil, acrylic, coal, clay, marble, wood, anything I could think of! Hell, I even tried to summon the devil and painted with my own blood!”

Silence all over again.

“You remembered when you came to visit me after I was hospitalized right? You made me promise to never be so reckless with myself again. I agreed with my hands in yours, the rugged skin of your palm transferred its warmth directly into my veins, then my heart. I wanted to be held like that evermore,” mentioning the precious memories I had with him can magically calm me. Perhaps he is magical, maybe he is a wizard, a sorcerer, or someone who is good at casting love spells on people. “Why must you be so pleasing to be around? I wish finding the answer to that question is as easy as cutting you open. I wish capturing your essence, your life, your breath, no, YOU, was as easy as taking a photo or painting a picture of you.”

“One day I woke up fearing death. I cried on your shoulder as you wrapped your arm around me, providing me with the warm shield I always long for, and assuring me that not even death can part us. Eureka! The missing piece was found. I knew how could I capture your beauty,” I stroke his soft, chestnut hair, my finger tracing the delicate curve of his ear. “But I was afraid, mistakes seemed inevitable, and I dared not ruin my one chance at making the masterpiece of my creations. I was trapped in a dilemma; whether I should just let go, play it safe, and be a highly praised mediocre artist, or risk failing and bearing the weight of that mistake for the rest of my life?”

“I was laying on your lap as we were on the couch watching some dumb movie. I looked up and asked you what you’d do if you were to be stuck in my dilemma.”

“If doing nothing would result in me turning into someone I don’t like, there’s no purpose trying to play safe. Just risk it and hope for the best, that’s how life goes. And if it goes really wrong, I’ll always be by your side and help you fix it,” was his answer. I was freed from my shackles of fear right at that moment. I broke free and my mind moved in directions I’d never known I could. I had him, always would, and could keep him forever!

“So I started by poisoning you, skinned, dismantled, and then reassembled you piece by piece.”

“What can’t be kept on your body are put in jars and are remade for assemble, your eyeballs are now glass, your innards are now coated with gloss varnish for extra shine. Veins and neurons are glued to where they exactly were. Bones are bleached and reassembled with your own sinews. Your skin and hair are all treated so that they remain soft just like they were.” I caressed his cheek and lips, my fingers grazing against the smooth glass of his eyes. I leaned in and kissed him, my tongue tasting the metallic tang of varnish, my nose nuzzled his nose and my teeth softly gnawed his lips. “You are perfect, forever, like you are.”

I came to this dimly lit basement room every day to talk to him. I have recited these same words for years, and I have never thought of changing this habit.

For in this sacred space, I am blessed by his grace, forever and ever.