She barely says a word in the car. Only five minutes earlier she ran around with two different coloured plastic mugs. Sedated and still she bears with truly caring hugs from nurses.
I haven’t seen her smile for years now. That’s why I chose to take one of the few photographs from her old house. Not framed.
My mum and I entered the great damp place with the same dread, as we already expected a fair truth. There is no guilt anymore. Most drawers are empty or mouldy… however a strange feeling stays with us… when you face the task to give away – get rid of – the small things a normal household acquires over decades. Clothes, calendars, pillows, packs of tissues, entire sets of porcelain Made in GDR.
We both know selling the house will be hard in a land where the young ones abandon the rotten Russian left overs, in hope for the wealth of the West.
My thought trail ends when a grey car comes to a halt next to us. She still unconsciously follows a bland line ahead of us.
Crematorium S.
Same surname as my grandmother… if anyone believes in signs…
My genes don’t allow me to dream of what I read after midnight: 81 centenarians in a Chinese village between mountains and river have become a popular tourist attraction. Sadly. A secluded gene pole will end in not so far future… greed has not always something to do with money.
Thank you for the song it was beautiful!!!! I really enjoy