Yellow stripes paint the bedroom wall, dusk enters and this girl has to woman up, once again
The sun is threatening to descend, the girl yearns to florick across the green, green, grass, enter those woods
An evening stroll through spring,
but instead she is in bed, blinds closed, her bedroom imitates night slivers of evening light cut through nonetheless,
taking her back to the days when night was day and day was night when she first landed in her motherland.
It’s not the type of jet lag that excites, no
It’s the type that only grown ups have, self induced, so they can go to work the next day.
