The room was dimly lit. You could see dust settling in the beams of light streaming through the cracks of the curtains. They fell onto varied piles of books resting next to the bed maade of weathered wood. It was full of mismatched blankets and pillows, all of which were colorfully patterned. Though the rest of the room wasn’t as colorful, it looked every bit as chaotic. It seemed as though the room was inhabited, but neglected at the same time. Everywhere you looked, there were piles of books and clothing. Having been absentmindedly thrown into heaps on the creaking floorboards, the clothes resembled a landscape of hills and valleys. They gave off a smell that reminded you of an old thrift shop or a flea market. Pens lay scattered across the desk, between piles of paper and books. On top of one of these stacks rested a plant which was already old and withered. Its dry leaves hung from the stem like a person that had already given up hope. The walls however, were neatly filled. Two pictures, one of a man in a suit dancing with a young child in a summer dress on his toes and one of a woman wearing a light blouse, smiling ever so slightly towards the camera, were placed right next to the window. Some other pictures were hung up in a square on the wall across from the bed, where the desk stood. It had clearly been a lot of effort to create this shape, as the pictures were all made up of different sizes. Above the headboard of the bed itself there were a couple of posters and post cards, aesthetically arranged next to each other, so that the wall looked like a piece of art. Even though there wasn’t much light, there was enough to illuminate the light beige color of all four walls and the ceiling, which all seemed to be evenly coated. The entire room seemed to be a paradox in itself.