if the end of the world comes, i’ll wait here

if the end of the world comes, i’ll wait here

Many times I wanted to write something about this place. Maybe I can’t do it this time either, maybe there are no words to express how good I feel here and what this place means to me.

Poddlhá. More than a home to me, more than a childhood. I can imagine that if things were tossed up in my life, if they lost the meaning they have; I would just come to stay here.

Certain things should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.

The catcher in the rye

I agree with Holden and I must admit that the place has changed a bit over the years. A new fireplace was built, for instance. However, the essentials remain. It smells here like it always does. Like a forest, a wood and the years my sister and I spent in the tall grass, pretending to be wild beasts, [alright, I myself was the wild tiger, she was a hunted deer].

I loved every night my family and I spent by the fire, every star that shone above our heads. I remember chasing locust flies; I remember the conversations we had here when I grew up.

I remember every fairy tale I heard in this forest. Individual words and sentences still rustle between the trees.

As the years go by, the mushrooms seem to stop growing. In my mind, however, they still exist, stubbornly remaining in the soil, from where we must undermine them with a small hoe.

The second floor is still just as heated thanks to the hot sun, which warms the roof. The hammock between the two trees no longer hangs, but my soul is interwoven with its red threads.

And now a little less poetically: the latrine is still just as scary. You could still hear my desperate complaints while sitting on it. I am always afraid that a creature with eight legs will fall to my knees during my moment. You know, that hairy black one.

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