I was staring at a carpet on the wall with small flowers and a court-blue background that was strangely familiar to my eyes. A part of my childhood was full of these designs and patterns. I stood next to it and touched its silk threads. I saw myself ...
I was staring at a carpet on the wall with small flowers and a court-blue background that was strangely familiar to my eyes. A part of my childhood was full of these designs and patterns. I stood next to it and touched its silk threads. I saw myself with a doll. that my father had just bought for me, I was five years old, I was sitting on the bed in my father's and mother's room, and I was combing my doll's hair. In front of me was a woman with long golden hair, who tied her hair with red silk, and was humming a song under her breath. She was tying the silk threads piece by piece and my lullaby for my doll was full of the sound of the carpet comb hitting the wefts and it was my mother's only entertainment and conversation. I missed him so much, like sixteen years away.
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