I passed through a hallway lined with white walls, just like the rest of my house. But with every step I took, I couldn't stop looking at the countless paintings on the walls.
I had seen each of these paintings thousands of times. I had studied them all, memorized almost all of them. Some of the paintings were bad ones that children could only draw half-assedly. But when I looked at another, I could see that the person who drew the paintings had improved. The paintings were getting more and more detailed, bigger and bigger, and more... beautiful.
The gradual evolution of the paintings... literally... made me mesmerized no matter how many times I saw them. It was a different feeling, especially knowing that it was my own son who had painted them.
So, I was looking at each of the paintings again and again, taking slow steps. I was in no hurry. I was enjoying the colorful corridor with a smile on my face.
