
if I had a house, it would be made of wood and it would be pink, it would smell of childhood, it wouldn't be too big, it would creak a little, and when entering from the back door, it would smell of fire.
It could be seen from afar, that it had lived, and been lived in and was its charm, the uncertainty of the white, the change of things, like the change of people, everything that seems permanent and all that dissolved.
If I had a house, it would have lights, which would also make shade, in the evening on the white walls, and the doors would be dark.
In the afternoon
cars are passing in Mumbles
like there’s not jetty