French dreams.

My room is golden with sunbeams, the comforter is soft and warm, I’m making lemon tea and last night I had the sweetest dream in a long time (ever since the Sapho-dream, sigh).

I was in this old castle, located near my hometown, it was full of big, light halls, secret rooms, winding staircaises and gigantic beds and rugs in bright colours. I met the members of this family I was once staying with in France, the daughter, Julie, and I were just lying around in the sunshine, talking about everything and nothing, her father was fixing my walkman, (which is still broken, actually. Shoots.), and when it started working we foun out that there was a Debbie Harry-cover of some song on the tape, and he had been searching for that song all of his life, so he was so happy he had found it, he decided to let me and all my friends live in the castle with them. It turned into a big , friendly, eco collective with beautiful decour, and I woke up feeling perfectly happy.

Room ablaze.

Room ablaze.

In my dream it looked a bit like this. Picture via


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