Don’t smoke in bed.
When I came home today, Nina Simone was singing in my ears. I opened the letterbox and stared at the emptiness while Nina suggested I should not smoke in bed. I climbed the stairs, I searched my pockets for the right key, I opened the door. There is always snow in late february. As I watched it melting on my shoes, I wondered why I forget this every year. I made some coffee, I read some pages, I looked out of the window into someone else’s appartment. I thought about making chocolate chip cookies but then I realized I didn’t have all the ingredients I needed. Nothing particularly special happened today. I tried to remember what I did exactly one year ago and what I did two years ago and what I did the year before that. Last year I was fighting with a friend and recovering from having seen a ghost the night before. Two years ago I was in the middle of getting my heart broken. And I don’t really remember the year before that. Or maybe I don’t want to.
Have you ever wished to be forgotten?