Sanne Vaassen: Memory

I remember the scent of sulfur and the peach color of the ground.

I remember the days were longer when I was younger.

I remember the little yellow tiles in the hallway of the house where I grew up.

I remember the pattern of the sofa.

I remember waking up with the sound of pigeons on the rooftop.

I remember the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling.

I remember my mother put my stuffed animals in the freezer.

I remember our poodle with the pink nose having an epileptic seizure in the doorway.

I remember the feeling of spray foam in my head.

I remember the scent of the hedge around our house.

I remember holding a new born chick in the garden.

I remember fiction becoming real.

I remember having a dream over and over again.

I remember the plant in the garden with flowers that look like little pink hats.

I remember my yellow, blue, red, green glasses.

I remember the blue pattern on the special tableware.

I remember the scent of my father’s perfume.

I remember the squeaking sound of the gate.

Sanne Vaassen 13 Dec 2017