The desire to stay up all night, catch up with things that do not have time for the day, just finally devote time to something loved and his under a familiar calm playlist, in which you do not want to switch anything. Spend an evening at home alone, in the company of himself watching a series or movie, reading with hot tea with a lime color or something warming from the inside, tart and leaving a claret print on the lips. To really feel the evening, passing into the night, to spend the evening completely your own, which so long ago thinks.

I’m sitting on the carpet with my legs crossed, I look at the things lying around me, on the empty shelves, the suitcase on the right and the sealed boxes in front – I’m not home again and I’m not moving home. So in the end it may turn out that out of things I will have a clogged backpack, a little more full about the necessary things than now, and everything – so that it will be possible to be a hermit crab, always with everything where it happens to stop, there is a house. The house is where I am.

And it does not really matter where to live. Just want to feel safe, realize that this place is with you for a long place and you can arrange your favorite trifles on the shelves, not thinking that they will soon need to be packed with them on the road.

This time I already perceive the move easier than in the beginning of autumn. It means the will of the case, maybe for the better, as it often happens. Let it be so, the spinning-top spinning in the fall has not stopped; I will then hold on tight, I want to know where it will lead, what has prepared a fast future, and where else I will be. The hermit’s path continues, not interrupting – temporarily, briefly, here and there, in search of your place. I sit on the carpet with my legs crossed, I look around, as if I have lost something, or scissors, to cut the paper, or something else. It seems, I understood: I finally lost my feeling at home.