Basements are often dark and cold. Seldom do we find one set with embroidery, cushions and warmth. No one ever really depicts a basement this way; as a room of comfort. So when I was little, I wouldn’t dare go down there alone. Oh, no. The cobwebs and creaking pipes within the silence were too much for these wobbling knees. While a sister stood watch, I turned on every light to make way for whatever it was I had gone in search of; tiptoeing quickly as if not to stir the monsters lurking within the bricks.
As I grow older, I learn to find comfort in knowing that everything I fear configures only behind the doors of my mind; where I have learned to laugh and poke at monsters created but never named. And silence is quite easy to fear; leaving room for nightmarish construction. Basements hold the space for such creations that bedrooms hold too much character to possess.
Remember now, a transformative possibility. Run your fingers over cement walls, breathe steady against the still. Make this quiet room a harbour if you find one no where else.