Part I:
In
the middle of the grainy chaos where dark, subtle shapes are flying,
the contour of a small house has appeared, like a window shaping
the world around it. But it is uprooted, it has no anchor. It floats
in-between countries, cultures, languages, and has still not decided
where it wants to land, and whether any place wouldn’t yield
the longing for the one that was left.
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