the threads in her head

The silence of the night.

I would like to be at my cousins' house now. With the story of ghost trapped in the little figurine, the clips at the windows, the piano in the living room, the mini hair saloon in the kitchen, the master bedroom in which a sense of adventure seems to prevail, the guys' bedroom which seems forever sleepy, the girls' cum stranger bedroom, the small library with the computer. The silhouette of the school outside the window. The quiet road.

Silence has its own touching melody.

Put your hand to your heart. The beats of life.

And maybe, I'll really hear a melody when I close my eyes. Maybe it'll be a melody of the harmonica, though I've just about forgotten how it sounds like.

I should not have described my cousins' house. One often feels disappointed when it's never really up to expectations. Memories can deceive. They were formed at a different time, with a different you.

Every second one changes as new thoughts spring up to tweak you a little.