small little tin box

What one year ago we didn’t dare to wish for today is reality. The most real of the most real ones.

I should be happy. But the unrest is growing in me. I lost control of something.

In these times when it objectively didn’t exist anymore it all could be mine. A small little biscuit tin filled with souvenirs.

I could slip through a narrow chink (a fissure inside a diamond) like a thief. Secretly take over the reminiscences and create possibilities, my very own milky ways.

But things don’t happen like that (in a snap of the fingers.)

They returned too late or too soon.