Then I went upstairs, slowly, measuring each step. All still there, after all of those years. The line of pictures, untouched, climbing with me, looking at me. Cool air whispering in my ears. How long have I waited to live this? It was unexpected and welcome. Daring and caring. All furniture pieces where I left them. Like good old friends. Waiting, patiently. Where have you been? Did you find what you were looking for? The black tiles on the floor started to make a musical sound—the usual one. In tune with my thoughts, quickly assaulting each other. Will I find her still sitting in her chair? Those eyes looking into my soul were the greatest treasure I left behind me. They kept on visiting in my dreams, sometimes in my daydreaming. At the same time, they had the power of communicating love, a silent, warm, embracing love, and a quick reprimand, sweet but firm. Where have you been? Have you found what you were looking for? The white tiles replied to their opposite twins. My alternate steps started to establish the familiar rhythm. That one peculiar to the approaching door. It always surprises me how long it takes to go from the balcony to the door. The asymmetry between time and space follows an inverse gradient. The more you come closer, the more it takes for you to reach it. And it never ends.