Foto: Maarten Zeehandelaar
After we split up I had to find alternative routes to get from A to B. I just didn’t want to have to pass through our old neighbourhood anymore. If you walk down a street together for years it just doesn’t feel right to walk it alone. So I explored new routes and walked streets that I never imagined would be there. Actually, the city was bigger than I thought and alive with new, exciting people. The only thing that would occasionally remind me of my old neighbourhood was the old sawmill by the canal. I would see its wings protrude from behind the apartment buildings that formed the borders of my new existence. We used to take our evening walks there, and feed dandelions to the young goats at the petting zoo.
One day I noticed that the sawmill was gone and I realized that I hadn’t registered its presence for a while. For the first time in months I crossed the border into my old existence, bracing myself for sadness, nostalgia, regret. Whatever confrontation I’d expected turned out not to be there. Maybe something in me had changed or slipped away into the streets I’d explored, or it just wasn’t important anymore. It turned out to be nothing more than walking down a street, looking at a burned-down sawmill.
Texto por: Wibo Kosters
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