Today, the 7th of january is a day. Kind of the same as yesterday and tomorrow, i think. The days melt together and Im in the middle of it. I dream at night and wake up to the dreams. This day we painted, with white, thick paint.
Thin layers, over and over again. My friend told me that we should paint as thin as the springs first leaf. I tried and it went pretty good, mabye beacuse we did the same thing yesterday, with the same paint and the same brush but not on the same wall. Thats the differens, the time passes while im in the same. Things that I don't know about doesn't bother me here, or where ever we are the time things happen. But I still think about it. What's going on everywhere, at home, at my street, at my friends's schools, in my grandmas kitchen. I will never not think about it but here I don't know what to expect, and what to expect when I get home. How did my mother celebrate her 50th birthday, is my friend in love, have anyone been in my room since I left. What should I expect. I talk to them everyday, some of them. I ask them how they're doing, what they do, what they feel like but it's not the same. Not the same as having a conversation, seeing faceexpressions, hearing the voice of the people you love. Although things and nothings exist here, you are always with me. Not like usual but like this.