Everything seemed the same, the family photographs on the walls, the sofa, the windows… even the smallest of details like the dust gently touching the books in the shelves seemed the same. The light was different, though, that light that reminded him of his loss, a presence that lingered suspended on the air, on better times.
I haven’t had much time lately, or maybe I should say that I haven’t had much time for the things I love. Kind of nonsensical, don’t you think? I mean, why do we (in general; me in particular) leave the things that we love to do for the last moment? Or is it only me??
From time to time it’s ok just stop worrying about everything and relax, feel free to create whatever you want to create and not looking the clock. Just being swept along.