The day before, it’s always something unsetteling, enerving, warping. I buzz back and forth between errands and whatever I think I should get beforehand and packing, boxing, cleaning. It’s almost four when I finally fall into my bed, the last time here, the last time in this place that became home so quickly. Or at least something like it. The nightingale starts singing and I just know, the new place will be quite some work, yet it will be completely mine. A canvas I can try out what I please. But I am scared a little. What if all this doesn’t play out the way I hope and dream? When my plans turn sour? I just hope they won’t. I hope you would be back quite soon, mu break glass in case of emergency.