Tuesday, June 12, 2012


Three weeks ago, my father left.
I tell people, I let them grieve. Yet, I come across a piece of news, a strain of music, a new book, or just a moment when I pause in the morning - and think I must tell him this. Then I tell myself. He's dead.
Saudade, or is it? You've got to learn not to yearn.
And you've got to learn blue is a fantasy. Blue doesn't exist. This is complete absence of colour.