Your reply made me remember my own special experience with a particular house. Mine is very strange.
I wrote a freestyle poem called "Yellow House" some months ago, which is about the very strange knowledge that I strongly felt I had - sort of deja-vu-like - concerning a house we would drive by when I was a child whenever we went anywhere, as this was a rural area, and the house was miles from where we lived. I always felt that I knew what the inside of that house was like, in sharp detail.
The strange thing is, I still have that feeling today, though the house is now gone.
Once when I was a little girl, I often played in such houses with friends. The Venetian picture moved me into beautiful past moments.
Greetings
Greetings to you!
Your reply made me remember my own special experience with a particular house. Mine is very strange.
I wrote a freestyle poem called "Yellow House" some months ago, which is about the very strange knowledge that I strongly felt I had - sort of deja-vu-like - concerning a house we would drive by when I was a child whenever we went anywhere, as this was a rural area, and the house was miles from where we lived. I always felt that I knew what the inside of that house was like, in sharp detail.
The strange thing is, I still have that feeling today, though the house is now gone.