Memory of a Floor

In this memory, I’m four years old. I’m in the backroom of our tiny half-dilapidated apartment, lying on my stomach with my eyes pressed against the floor. Several shiny green strips mark the gaps between the Japanese straw mats covering the floor, and one of them is right in front of my eyes.

These green strips always shine brightly in the daylight. But from this angle, the shiny strip looks different because I can see the tiny sparkly circles dotted all over it. As I press my eyes even closer, the white sparkly circle becomes larger in my sight, looking like a star. There I imagine that I’m travelling in the sky, visiting the many sparkly stars in the sea of green.