It almost feels like this is the first time I am sitting here, writing loose words on loose papers. It’s a terrific night outside. The sky is blue like ink and the moon is cold. All I can feel of them is the light that comes through the window. It’s foggy; the world is covered by a tick and dry mist. I’m glad I’m inside. Maybe the mist will go down soon enough and I’ll be able to look at it from above, as it sits on the bushes like a grey sheet. A wonderful night to sit at the attic’s window and write some words. Even though it almost feels like it’s the first.

Now that I look at it, the attic seems a bit different. Not that anything has changed about it, it’s just like I have never seen it before outside of a clouded dream. It’s empty, as always, big lumps of dust roll affected by my movements. The only sign of human life here is the window. I may be sit under it, but the night outside makes me feel almost non-human, as if I never existed before entering this place. It is fun how this house was left abandoned by my parents when they moved and suddenly resurrected when they came back. Only the attic remains a corpse. I try my best to resurrect it by coming up in nights like these and write my considerations about these nights but the division has not noticed it yet, as far as it seems.

The night is beautiful, a cloud in front of a blue paper with the moon giving out some interesting light. A white match trying to burn the cardboard. Have I left the country where I was born to see something I could see there every night? I miss those nights. My city of the orient, crowded with casinos and fun, bright moons on Earth flashing at their true mother. Here, there is no light. I search for it, but there is only the sun and the moon and they are certainly not enough. Girls, what this country has are many girls. It’s crowded with them, they crawl from every hole like centipedes, they gaze at my differences with famished eyes. Girls in this place are like animals, decrepit lions hunting together for the best prey and only getting the sick one. Someday I may bring one here, so she sees how empty is my attic, how empty I am without the Asian lights of my Asian city.

It’s weird… I dreamed with this attic before. I dreamed with my ex-girlfriend. And the ex before that ex. And the one before. All the dreams here. Unsuitable elements, misplaced furniture. But I haven’t dreamed about my current yet. Will she be another misguided chair inside this triangle? Or maybe a rotten table. Attics are special because they are pyramids. Inside a pyramid everything looks like a coffin and all my lovers look like mummies. The weird thing now… Is that there is a woman looking at me through the window. It does not make sense. I should not have found such a thing. She is just there, looking at me, but I’m indifferent to her presence. She is not my current, nor my ex, nor my ex before the ex. She is something different. Why do I always find something weird every time I come up? It’s unfair.

*

Well, I tried to open the window but I couldn’t. It does not seem possible to open the window, it is locked from a place that is not inside or outside. It’s simply locked. But the woman has not moved and just smile. She is involved by the mist as well. I realized that she resembles a girl I met the other day, but why is she up the window of my attic, hands glued to glass and a conceptual gaze upon her eyes? I wish I had found a human skull instead, it would make more sense. Since she does not change her position, the mist cloud is probably warm, like in a summer night. The moon is made of winter, though.

I met this girl, that is now squirming her lips in the shape of a smile, when I went out to lunch with the first friend I made on this city. The girl joined our group. Actually, I joined their group. I am the newbie here. The conceptual-gaze was already there, she can hop around and join whoever she wants because this is her land, she is just another lion trying to get a meal. Damn it, I really wish I had found a letter saying I’m adopted instead. It would make sense, I don’t look anything like my parents. I guess the Asian weather glued to my face and gave me Asian weather traits.

But no. I can’t really wish. Today the wrong element I found in my attic is this woman. There is always something wrong here, there is always something missing or something added, I never belong here.

Now that I think of it… I don’t recall ever having an attic.

The girl is opening the window. I heard she has an Asian fetish.