Stepping through the door of the cabin and seeing the worn out couch on your left and your writing desk piled with books and papers on your right stops you in your tracks. The door still open behind you lets in the red light of the evening sun. Catching dust particles as they dance through the air from the disturbance your body created when moving inside. Giving your suroundings an almost magical glow. You look around and take it all in. The way the blanket is sprawled across the backrest of the sofa as if someone who fell asleep was in a hurry to get up. The musty smell wooden cabins tend to have when windows have been shut for too long. Yesterday’s dishes, which are still unmoved, untouched, on the kitchen countertop in the back of the room. The desk you can barely see underneath the books and sheets of papers that are all filled to capacity, in between the mess stands the old iron desk lamp that miraculously still works. The creaky old wooden chair that sits as bad as it looks, is the only item that seems out of place. Neatly tucked underneath the desk, freshly cleared from dust making it shine ever so slightly. The chair, the desk, the scene does not match. For a chair so clean in comparison with anything else in the room. You would think that if the chair has been used and moved so carefully that the desk would show the same vigour of use.
When the dust seems to settle and the moment has passed you move further inside. You move with caution, placing one foot in front of the other. Not because you’re scared but to try and preserve the view this picture paints. You know the cracks in the floor, the stains on the wall. The second hand cabinet you gave new life by bringing it home. It’s all yours now. But you came back here for one thing and that’s what you’ll do. Rummiging through the papers on the desk, moving books aside you look for something underneath. Nearly tipping over the lamp you laugh to yourself. Remembering why you came here and let yourself embrace the serenity of this place. The soft ticking of the analogue clock is not trying to rush you. So take your time to carefully look and see so much more than what you came to find. You find old letters and handbound books, a pocketwatch that no longer works, the fountain pen your grandfather used and finally there it is. The little square piece with white edges slightly crumpled, with a picture inside a little faded. The polaroid your memories created.
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