Robert's got a quick hand. He'll look around the room, he won't tell you his plan.
I cannot wait to have my own space where I can choose whether to isolate myself there or only be there two days of the week. I can make it my new rectangular oasis, I can leave its volume empty or fill it with my usually empty soul. I can throw as many pillows, parties, candies as I please. I will be pleased. The door will be white one day, red one day, black the next. In it will always be nighttime, I will always keep the blinds shut, only opening them to little birds and maybe little squirrels from time to time. I will write proses and poems on the walls, at the same time there will be no walls. There will be no walls, no fences, none of those but chances. Chances that will be chosen by heads or tails.