The old Villa creaks under your careful steps. You know each nook and cranny, each dark, friendly and not so friendly corner. The wood and marble staircase spirals up like a reminiscent Chinese dragon, half asleep but moving. The chandelier - once crystal-clear and almost arrogant in its sparkling shine - now hangs from the high ceiling, unsure and slightly insecure about its own value. The doorknob under your warm hand feels irritatingly cold but familiar. You walk into what you know will be the hardest room for you. The room that you have avoided all this time but that, now, moves itself into your presence and you know, because you feel it, you cannot avoid it any longer. You don’t have to, either.
You turn the ****, and with a soft push the door gives in. One step, and you are in the room. You smell it, dusty childhood smell;
you know this, oh you know this, immediately. Yellow paper before you, crumpled school books, old toys, all of it - you remember
all of this.
You stand still for a moment. Half inside the room, half ready to leap backwards and shut the door again. You take a breath,
gathering your courage, your stability.
Then you experience a surging feeling, a wave-like movement that both comes towards you and seems to be oozing out of you, seeps from right out of your body, your chest. For a moment you have to close your eyes; it is too much.
in a powerful second inhale, you drink it all up, all of it, surrender
to all of this
with a magnificent pain and hot compassion, a lighting strike, that
all of it
That you are all of this and more
So much more.
Your lungs hold this breath, hold it for a timeless moment
before you, with utmost decisiveness and finality, open your eyes again
one last time
all of it
Saluting every single cherished item
Before you let
and let everything
explode before your eyes
You lower your eyes
take a mental bow and step
And another step
everything being lifted, moved around
explode in the air, into a million particles that are free to dance now
the staircase the door the
Somewhere at the shore, in white sand, a figure wakes up, stretching and shifting, squinting at the sparkling rays of sunlight reflected from the soft ocean waves. A naked, peaceful figure. The beach is as good as any place, and from here it begins.
A vague memory is welling up to the surface - vague, and yet engraved with care and absolute clarity;
there were certain things waiting here for a while.
A few meters away in the shade of the pine trees, there -
The figure gets up, a smile growing to full radiance. Naked feet starting to walk towards those trees, towards