Have you ever dedreamed your dreams? 

Have you ever been put face to face with the consequences of your actions, with the painful realisation that all the things you did were good for nothing, that you failed? 

Are you ready to pack some clothes, to move your houseplants and your pets ('cos they are the only living things left there)? I said: are you ready to forget that beautiful shelf you assembled together, all those figurines, that corner in which you both placed all the treasures you brought from your travels, the posters from that time you went to see The Lord of the Rings at the cinema, that little stud thing to hang your keys from that you both celebrated finding, the little painting of that chubby cat you bought in Paris? Are you ready to assume that you failed and must bow down and go away?

Oh boy do I hate myself for being so clingly towards actual material stuff. Maybe because I've felt at home here and I'm coming back to a place that always felt like . Because closing the windows and shutting the doors mean letting this dream go to rot. And maybe because it's been a desperate cry to try to get me to root somewhere, to tangle me to a solid ground so I wouldn't float off again. 

Anyway, here I am, actually floating away and letting go of everything again, chewing on my failure and still feeling outside of my body because things are changing and why would anyone want to come after me and chase me and why would I be something other than a burden for once. 

Neverming. I've got some houseplants to move. Bye bye, dreamland.