She strolled around like Nancy was her own home. She has always dreamt of a parisian apartment with high ceilings and huge, white windows that will let the sun rays to wake her up gently. She loved the sun. But this day in Nancy was not the sunniest she could have. She walked around for some minutes and the buildings reminded her some Ionian islands and the summers she had spent there. It was not the sea she missed so much but the sense of carelessness each summer carries with its arrival.
She found a place to sit before the rain and thought a while about her apartment. It would be full of paintings laying on the wooden, dark floor. The books she reads would form a library on their own being spread around just like her ideas, her projects and her drawings. Nothing had his final form yet. Like waiting for a last touch and like this touch is the most important one. Her apartment would be filled with colors but not on the textiles or the walls. The colors would come from the flowers in the vases, Freesias that she liked a lot. And with this thought she ordered a hot coffee until the last drop of rain.
That day in Nancy when her company arrived became sunnier than she imagined it to be. She had her coffee, they chatted pointlessly for an hour and then they walked again to find what is hidden in the narrow streets of that city. Lorraine had its myths and so did she.
The day was over and the engine of the car made her realize how fast time can slip through your hands when you are day dreaming. The road was long before getting back home. The music of the unknown french radio station was leaving no space for talking. So she thought again of her apartment and suddenly a question bothered her.
Would he like the sunlight to wake him up as well?
A.
