Suddenly it strikes me how I´ve lived this moment before. I am looking out of your window, grey sky, stormy weather and dead trees… Except, it used to be in a house by the beach, with walls covered with humidity. I am no near the water now but the peeling white paint of your window reminds me of that other house where, even if late, I used to pretend to be a child, where I was happy.
It is nothing but vague now, the feeling of being home. My nose is cold and that ancient sense of forgetting everything, like dying again and again seems no longer possible. I wish I could follow him around the house once more, into the bathroom which annoyed him so, even more than all the questions I kept asking all day long just to be reassured.