L'archéologue

It's strange to be back home. You walk through this city, and it's like an archeological field; memories of the first 19 years of your existence superimposed over each other, like a camera film that has been exposed over and over again, and you can see all those different photos blended into one, some of them blurred and so intermingled into each other that you can hardly recognize anything, others vivid and sharp, sticking out against the background. Places connected not only to one, but to at least a dozen moments and different stages in your life, like the centre of a spider's web reaching through time; your lifetime. Maybe this is why we feel at home; the sheer mass of memories attachted to a certain place; time attached in a particular way to space.