The sky was painted in the mixture of coquelicot and pale lilac as the blase sun sank behind the city. It looked absolutely breathtaking with the horizon wrapping around the mountains dressed in white spots, illuminating all the streets and roads where a big part of the upper class lived. No wonder why, I thought. Barely a few minutes passed and the lights already multiplied, it felt like I'm watching a precisely created painting, clearly alluring to a sophisticated life. It was the most beautiful sunset I've seen in a long time, and so I was accordingly amazed. I sat next to the window, watching the beautiful landspace and I devoured every piece of it, hungrily, to the point, where I felt it surrounding me and I almost believed I was there. I belonged there, again, like I never left. But as I looked behind my back, I reassured myself that I'm still in that broke flat that had nothing nearly as pretty as it's view. That was enormously gorgeous, though. As i was watching the mansions from afar I realized that I probably have a prettier view than they do. All they saw were the tenements and sparse trees but it was still such a tiny sacrifice for a life so convenient. I craved for it, oh so bad. The memories in my head were crystal clear about the times when I lived on an estate as huge and incredible as theirs. I could easily recall every detail of the last home I had, right before I lost the already unsure life that my 12 year old self had.
I sighed, and looked away. There's no use of remembering.