the big yellow house.

it’s moving time. the third time in my life i’m leaving the house i called home for so many years. the good memories i have of my childhood all take place in or around the big yellow house my great-grandad built 100 years ago. the stable that is nowadays a storage. the room that used to belong to my grandad and has been mine since i returned from finland. after moving to sweden, coming back and then going to finland, this third time seems final. this third time seems aimless. this third time hurts.

i believe.