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The plate in my hands that I’m washing says Designed in Sweden, made in Portugal. The phone rings, a call from Germany. A visitor in the office, an American. But I’m not the one who was in Sweden to see how the plate got it's form and shape. Not the one who saw how the plate got made. I'm not the one who answers the phone and not the one who welcomed the visitor. I’m the one with the memories. The memories, deep inside of me. Myself with those memories connected with all those countries.
I feel alone, I only can share it with you, feel it with you, know it with you, but you are not here.
I feel alone, not myself, losing myself scared to give away the memories and the connection.
Come back and find me coz I feel alone….