It was dark when I left the building. The stained glass windows of the church refracted the moonlight across the tops of pews, illuminating the church as I stood alone at the wooden double-doors. I paused. The silence was welcoming, peaceful, and held a strong draw for me despite the four hours that I'd spent there. Solitude is my only form of peace, and this abandoned church, a treasure hidden away in the suburbs of Sandringham, is my sanctuary. The doors creaked behind me as I closed them; the rusted hinges providing reassurance that my escape remains mine alone.
I am not particularly religious, I'd be the first to admit that. It's just that I like empty churches and cathedrals. The places that house spirituality, without the humans that soil it and their selfish agendas. The place that embodies ideas greater than the trivial physical world that we live in. The darkest corners with the deepest symbolism, lines and figures, pictures representating the unenunciable. The descriptions of what I feel inside me but cannot talk about. I often feel like I am simultaneously filling the physical space, and yet being filled. It is a paradox that would not make sense except for the fact that I feel less and less like a physical human and more like a transient spirit.
As I walked down the alleyway that led from the train station, gently inhaling the clear, chilly air, I come back more to myself and what she said. "Until you admit that you have emotional needs and are a member of the human race, I cannot be with you anymore." I'd laughed at that, an amused, bitter laugh - not because I'd disagreed, but because of the irony of the situation and the truth in that statement. It's started raining. I pulled out my black umbrella, mechanically setting it open and continuing my walk at a regular cadence. The sound of my heels as they hit the ground in a regular, hollow, squeak mixing with the dull thuds of the raindrops on the fabric of the umbrella. Like a double bass complementing the impossibly fast fingerstrokes in a Rachmaninoff concerto. I am blending into my surroundings, at one with the world. This feeling is incredibly individual, yet the knowledge that it is irreproducible in life, destined to melt into another moment of experience, renders it almost meaningless. It will be forgotten in the next moment when I am distracted by more pressing material needs.