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Coming back after so much is not always a synonym of a pleasant beginning. Sometimes it is an uphill climb.
The road back was clouded with tears. It was pouring, outside too. Even the city didn’t welcome me when I needed a hug.
Opening the door of your home again is not always a synonym of peace and quiet. Sometimes it’s a torture.
The key didn’t even want to open. It seemed like two weeks were years of abandonment and the lock was mouldy.
Sometimes it’s hard to feel again.
The stench of shortness of breath, of non-humanity, weighed more than my body slamming on the couch. It wasn’t me, it was everything. Everything had been left behind. There wasn’t a living plant left on the balcony. Well, just one: the tradescantia, although that name is not known by many. Believe it or not, we commonly call it «man’s love», and maybe that is a sign.
