Thursday, May 29, 2014

It's cruel, so cruel to make me move. From one house onto the next, I wonder if it'll ever stop. I can spend weeks pretending it's not going to happen, not packing a single box, smiling at all my happily lush sunbathing plants. And what about the perfect chaos hidden from guests' eyes in every cabinet? What about all the chaos of perfection of my sunlit kitchen? The calmness of the bedroom? Do I have to disassemble all of it? Glass vase with dry branches on the windowsill ... the fragile balance of every mood filling the house - all gone with a switch of a vacuum. Dry hands from cleaning, bloated belly from junk food, dehydrated eyes, thin wrinkles around the lips - all so I don't sink into the calm "forever"; move, move. Slowly the space empties out, colors disappear, echo settles in. As if I've never been here before...

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