The walls are naked. White. My memories are gone. All of my polaroids are gone. The cards I like to pick up from museums in different countries. The paintings. Not that I need a reminder but I like to look at everything that is on my wall and remember clearly extracts of my life. Now they are laying inside a box. Waiting to be brought to another house where they will be hung on another wall and things will be in balance again.
One piece of art is left. Her. A face of a goddess. Leaning on the wardrobe, she is staring at me with her big dark blue eyes. It’s almost as if she understands how I feel at this moment. I don’t think she is able to remember much either. So we just look at each other in silence.
It’s 12.24 a.m. and the room is getting darker and darker. I almost can’t recognise the goddess features anymore and it’s getting harder to focus on which line of the book page I am. I am reading ‘Love is a dog from hell’ from Bukowski. I could turn on the light and resume or wait for the rain to stop and the blue sky to show up. I chose the second. I remember a guy I was seeing a few years ago, he was a big fan of Bukowski. Now I understand him.
It’s light again.