Back in the same room after the fire, though I shouldn't say it is the same, the angle of the sun did not change, to lighten the charred wall with a rhomboid at this time of the day, higher than how one would hang a half length dressing mirror, lower than where the drawing room painting should be, at the neglected corner of the room, the web, a deformed pentagon, traps black flakes than insects, on the floor, I noticed the charcoal photo frame, I recognised the leaf-motif, but I am not here to cry about picture I have lost or to complain about the unpleasant smell.
