Katherine’s postcards

I remember:

you saying little. You seemed to consider each word. For you, the idea of home was lightly held.

You said:

I tend to flit from one place to another. Every space I’ve passed through, I’ve felt a certain attachment for, but without ownership. It could be windows – how light enters. It allows me to focus on something, where time ceases to exist and I don’t find myself looking at my watch. I could be anywhere.