If we imagine or remember is yet to be pronounced or so I started to wonder lately. For a good while I prefer withdrawing in a certain place that makes me feel safe enough, watch the rain, the snow, the falling leaves, all happening behind the window of a train wagon, a strange compartment, bed or couch on a side, most of the space occupied by it (I like to see it as a tone of red), before it, under the window there is some sort of a table. I put my tea there. Sometimes I would close it for more space. I would live there.
Thank God for Google and the access to everything we desire for so I saw my place somewhere else than my mind. The colours could be or could be not the same, I can’t tell that, the fact that it exists it’s already something I hang onto. Now I do wonder about the rest of the place.