I have a lot in my hand now. both hands
but you can't see it.
Even I can't see it either.
I can see a red apple on my right hand. The mirror version of me.
I'm wearing a white top with white pants and white sneakers.
behind me there's a grey wall. contrasting with the cedar floor.
The lights are empowered by the mustard window sill just above my waist.
Probably I forgot about my brown leather belt I bought last week.
It's not there in the mirror.
Silver curtains are bellowing softly hitting the black shelves beside the window.
There's a mint tin robot, the square one looking at the blue box under it.
what's in that box?
it's a hard box. with travel vintage postage printed on it like you see on notebooks.
it's not blue. the background is red.
Still looking at the mirror stained with drops of grey paints.
now why there's a spot of green paint at the corner of the mirror.
I look up.
whose room is this? is it mine?
or is it a mixture of my interior collections of screenshots of interior from social medias?
I feel like I'm in Scandinavia. Although I can't pinpoint the exact location on the map.
But I do know it's in Europe.
I turn around to see my back parts.
those muscles aren't mine.
I'm in someone else's body!