I’ve moved on a long time ago. Moved to another country, learned a new language and studied there. But, once again, as I open my eyes, gliding on the calm, perfectly smooth sea of my dream, I once again appear there.. At home.
It’s my parent’s apartment. My teenage room: black furniture, white walls, posters of bands and video game titles. Here’s the old couch, which I used to play and eat on, then proceeded to never use again. I am right next to it, on the floor, my legs are crossed. To the right of me is the old wooden door to the corridor that breaks the asthetic of my room, it’s all bad sound isolation as I can hear loud music and cheering on the other end of the apartment. “What? I never held a party here.” I ask myself, doubting my own memory. I hear a feminine giggle, it’s mocking but soft to my ear: “You are delusional.”, she says.