Not that it really matters
What does your dream home look like?
It's quite odd to come to realize that the one place he'd call - if he'd ever use those words, which he wouldn't - his dream home is the exact same place that's responsible for probably 90% of the nightmares he's ever had in his life.
But whenever he allows himself to think about where he'd go if he was to leave New York, if he could leave, he sees himself returning to Bradford, returning to the house he grew up in. And even if he didn't know that the mere idea of returning to England wasn't utterly ridiculous, he'd still say that it's one of the few places he sees himself spending the rest of his life.
The beautiful surroundings, the silence - something he could never quite appreciate at the time - and most of all the house itself. While they were living there it always struck him as being quite small. Now he realizes that it wasn't, really. The feeling of walls moving in on him, of darkness surrounding him, the fear of suffocating - the negativity. It was never about the house, it was about its inhabitants
Patrick doesn't know for sure if the house is still there, after all even all those years ago it was fairly dilapidated: in need of some serious work. And sometimes - during one of his many sleepless nights - he pictures himself buying the house and renovating it himself.
He can't go back there though - ever. Not that he would anyway, he wouldn't leave. This is his dream home now: a top floor apartment in New York with lifts that will possibly be the death of him. But it doesn't matter. Because if there's anything he learnt is that it's not about the house itself. It's about the people you share it with.
It's quite odd to come to realize that the one place he'd call - if he'd ever use those words, which he wouldn't - his dream home is the exact same place that's responsible for probably 90% of the nightmares he's ever had in his life.
But whenever he allows himself to think about where he'd go if he was to leave New York, if he could leave, he sees himself returning to Bradford, returning to the house he grew up in. And even if he didn't know that the mere idea of returning to England wasn't utterly ridiculous, he'd still say that it's one of the few places he sees himself spending the rest of his life.
The beautiful surroundings, the silence - something he could never quite appreciate at the time - and most of all the house itself. While they were living there it always struck him as being quite small. Now he realizes that it wasn't, really. The feeling of walls moving in on him, of darkness surrounding him, the fear of suffocating - the negativity. It was never about the house, it was about its inhabitants
Patrick doesn't know for sure if the house is still there, after all even all those years ago it was fairly dilapidated: in need of some serious work. And sometimes - during one of his many sleepless nights - he pictures himself buying the house and renovating it himself.
He can't go back there though - ever. Not that he would anyway, he wouldn't leave. This is his dream home now: a top floor apartment in New York with lifts that will possibly be the death of him. But it doesn't matter. Because if there's anything he learnt is that it's not about the house itself. It's about the people you share it with.