There it was, the green desk, shining through the glass porch, it’s books, pens and paper, untouchable, by me. I wasn’t allowed to get closer. I knew there was a drawer locked with a key, and imagining what was inside filled my summers. I was 10 years old and we were on vacation. My mom’s aunt had this wonderful land in Miguel Pereira (Rio, Brazil), a place filled with everything any child would want. A swimming pool, dogs, birds, chickens and even a peacock. It was so big that more than 10 families could sleep over and they all would have their own bed. I loved that place. We went every year, sometimes for Easter, sometimes for the summer. But that place was so much more than a summer house for me. It where my imagination ran wild. I would read, draw, play board games with my brother and in between: dream. Dream that I would one day invite my friends over and we would be allowed to play pool, we would stay late and play cards, just like adults did, we would be allowed to sit on the main couch when the soap operas came on TV but mainly, I would be allowed to sit on the green desk. It was probably just a place to answer letters and pay the bills, but I had other ideas for it. I liked to think it was where secrets and mysteries got managed and then stored in the locked drawers. I would love to write a book about that place one day, maybe after I’m done with my current one.
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