It’s one of these days.
Sentimental, melancholic. Tired.
Six weeks in Croatia. I talk about The Netherlands. I don’t know what I feel.
I’m in a town. A big town. Zagreb. I think of Amsterdam. I compare.
Staying in a flat. Comfortable. The piles of books remind me of home. My cosy little house.
I listen to a Dutch composer. Simeon ten Holt, Canto Ostinato. The music gets to me.
A friends’ birthday, I miss her.