Last night in a dream I was walking under the high ceilings of our Brussels apartment. My key still fit the door and the evening light was flooding in like it always did at dinner time. The house was empty, it was resting in the in-between, waiting for new life to put flesh on its bones. We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away, someone said. Do those rooms, those streets corners, those cafés and market places carry my reflections? Can something in me be found only by going back there? What would such a meeting be like? Advertisements
Tonight I will iron my red dress. I will paint my lips with my fingertips and polish my favorite shoes. And dance and dance and dance!
When I think that I’m riding my bike through the warm misty night in complete solitude, admiring the sleeping fields and quiet skies, I see a moose couple, admiring the sleeping fields and open roads. For a passing moment, the whole world is taken by surprise, gravel crunches under the wheels and I, I smile.