everything around changes, but the flat of my grandma seemed remaining always the same.
always crooked paintings frozen on the ornamental walls, china figures, antique mirror, tv set in which I still see, like those 35 years ago, harold lloyd hanging on the clock, spring-soccer game with metallic ball hidden under the wardrobe, same smell, same milky chocolate with strawberry filling, same divine cheesecake, tea in glass with straw holder...
it seemed it will last unchanged until the end of the world
the end of the world came yesterday, the way miłosz described it
babcia irenka's world