Each person who pulls up a chair empties their bag onto the table top. It does not matter what falls out – egos and insecurities, diaries and budgets, passion and promises – what matters is how much of it there is: schedules spilling onto the floor; reputations clinging on by their fingertips; hierarchies squashed beneath unmanageable targets. Space must be made, in amongst it all, to start something new.
Take these pieces of glass: cut-offs; waste; slivers of blue and yellow and green and red. Place them any which way you choose. It is the fire that will bring them together, make sense out of the fragments, create something whole and unexpected.
Those days have gone – when we rock up and start everything from scratch. We can see you are already here, doing the things you do. We think there are words we might use together: catalyse, grow, build, inspire. There is an alchemy we might make, a delicate, recipe-less magic.
Here are my edges: one wonky line connected to another to make the shape that is me. They have been made from time and pain and hope and disappointment. I am not saying they are unscalable, or even immovable – some of them are more elastic than others. But I will only cross them by choice.
I’ll treat yours with the same respect, so long as you tell me where they are.
What we should be looking for is the space where they meet, where my inside blurs into yours. Even the smallest of slivers can be a place to start.
Come. I have put a blanket on the grass. Lie yourself down and look at the stars – they say each makes its own song up there in the dark. There are so many constellations, so many combinations. Join this bright one on your left to the one on its right; now choose the two above or the three below – it's up to you. Put together, they are the stuff of myth: a hunt, a promise, a journey, a dream. They are not forever, though, remember that – there will come a time when your story must change.