There are times when I need to run away. To a tiny attic in the back of my head, lined with dusty old trunks full of old clothes, broken toys and stray scraps of dreams closeted away from the sunlight; all grey and faded, like aging wallpaper. To a forgotten hole-in-the-wall, with a broken door, where no one remembers to look. Or a lonely little alley, squeezed between two fat slices of the world, abandoned by its neighbours.
I need to run away, to turn off, to shut down, for a while.
2 comments:
And may I send you this painting, a Charcoal-on-Silk (effect'ta sepia hoe) that says:
'Two old friends meet after a long, long time, to paint their favourite theme, whatever you choose it to be, up there in the attic taht noone cares to visit. A dilapidated part of the house.'?
Don't know what sense this comment makes, but your post somehow made me visualize this. Voice in my head, muchos amor. :)
blog i love. :)
you make escapism sound so lovey. :D
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