Dear you, I don’t want to leave, but I cannot be still. It’s too much to ask. No one is asking but yourself. True, I demand much of me. There is no other way. I don’t want to be quiet. I want to swear, be brutal, brake my things, cast them to trash and think something concrete has left. I feel better now.
I walked heavily painted steps to the laundry room, looked like plastic. White brick walls, grey steps, black, tiny grains of ground on the top two, me climbing in slippers. That’s for the colors, particals of a walk inside. Constellation left behind in a stripped tunnel downstairs to store, leave, come back, walk through in a robe, bikes and toys. I put coins to the washing machine, the older one, it’s probably from the 80’s. It started squashing my clothes around adding water.