DREAMING

I dreamt of no. 36 Jalan Ketumbit last night– how empty space felt like without the presence of a Love so strong, it fills up all the cracks of a broken door; the morning sound of birds chirping just outside the rusting old grail of our mosaic-stained glass window, and the smell of homemade pancakes wafting down the windpipe of your throat.

We moved back into this dusty space, exactly how we left it in 2008, and violently shoved bunnies atop of stale wooden cabinets. I wanted books to collect sun rays and mandala tapestries to be canopied, agape the Queen's throne of comfort and durability. I wanted to recreate a sense of belonging, restructure and play with the gift of spacial awareness, just like the old days when we were younger, child-like and inane. I wanted, most of all, to be home again.