Inside Golden Frames

I have tried to make this place my home. I have tried miserably. I do not like how the currency here has different colors; they even smell different. The air feels humid and polluted all the time. It suffocates me. The air is dusty and I cannot smell the sand or the fish, here. There is no salt in the air, lingering around. I was suppose to settle in months ago, more than a couple years ago. Windows in these houses are copper colored, not white. The panes, they are designed and a lot smaller, as well as grilled. A few days ago, I saw a – a piece of architecture and it resembled a water tank which belonged to a hotel across my childhood park. This, though, it was nothing like it and I did not know what it was. The arch was not similar, nor design on it and I think the color might have been slightly different. It was ugly, anyway.
Once, long ago, I tried to leave my windows open and all I heard were crows; children playing cricket, maybe; vehicles honking. What I did not hear were those two parrots, the pigeons, my neighbor on the phone or the swing creaking gently. I hated that swing. It was a black swing. Then, I never opened the windows. Ever.
When I saw mountains, on my way to another city on a bus, I imagined them as the mountains at home. They, however, were purple from the bus; not brown. It annoyed me. The green plants annoyed me. I had no pills to stop the annoyance. From time to time I would look at the sky; it seemed pretty sometimes, the sky. Although as I looked down, I saw what I was avoiding and that it had not left. The first time I tried looking at the sky to avoid everything below, I did not understand what happened and I was so terribly confused as to where I was. Gradually, I understood. Even the birds were irritating. Still are.


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