When the day comes where I'll stand in this space for the last time, when the moment comes where I'll look out upon these very same views for the last time, I'm thankful that on my face there will be a smile.
What sort of smile it will be, I don't know, I cannot tell the future, but I hope it will be a pensive, quiet smile. I hope that I'll be able to stand there, look about me, take a deep breath, thank the space, smile at the memory, and then shut the door.
If you're a believer that every space speaks a story, you'll understand what I mean when I say that this room has seen many, many stories. There have been happy ones. There have been pleasant ones. But there also have been unhappy, confused, even traumatic ones.
I'm not going to narrate them. Not only would it take a whole new story altogether, there are some tales which are better left to drift away along with the chilly, cold winds that, thankfully, in the last few months, have been drafting through the single window.
I'm not going to narrate them. Not only would it take a whole new story altogether, there are some tales which are better left to drift away along with the chilly, cold winds that, thankfully, in the last few months, have been drafting through the single window.