you know?

you know? really, i somehow believe that deep in the world, perhaps in some other spectre of time, we still exist, as we were at any point of time in our lives.

as a child, i am tracing the mosiac tiles in the kitchen. my tiny fingers poised accurately to trace the grey patterns in the white tiles.
the bright orange kitchen cabinets have not been torn down, and exist as bright as the day they were made, untouched by sunlight which reduces their brightness and turns them a pale orangey-yellow.
i trudge up the dingy stairs leading to my apartment as the sun shines across my back and paints a moving picture of myself, a replica of myself walking up the stairs, which appears as a block of grey shadow. and my shadow grows as i ascend.
in another time and in another place, i am still in the dingy motel with the tiny pillow and listening to the drips and draps of water leaking from the toilet pipe, tossing and turning on the hard bed, pulling at the thin white covers and feeling the rough blanket that comes with the covers for warmth.
in another time and another place, i was alone.