One morning you wake up routinely in familiar surroundings, you are accustomed to waking up under these homely white sheets, you’ve repeated this absurd chore for years –but the disparity of the atmosphere on this particular day can be felt without any effort. It’s in the air. Vases are perfectly placed not an inch away from their placing, too perfect that it confuses you. Open windows and the warm summer wind blows through your ruffled hair, but you only sense the irritation through the parched gust. You try to recall the events from the previous night, previous month, year. But it doesn’t come to you. Seized in the paradox you frantically search every corner of the room and don’t find yourself.