It is late. I try to go home to me, and I take a road I do not know: a small path along the factories and the city-between cutting through the forest. I am just beginning to understand the nature, when all of a sudden, night falls. I am immersed in a world of silence, yet I’m not afraid. I fall asleep a few minutes at most, and when I wake up, the sun is shining and the forest of dazzling light.
I recognize that forest. This is not an ordinary forest is a forest of memories. My memories. This white noise and river, my adolescence. These large trees, the men I loved. These birds flying in the distance, my father disappeared. My memories are not memories. They are there, living near me, hug me and they dance, sing and smile at me.
I look at my hands. I stroked my face, and I’m 20. And I like the way I’ve never liked.