Out Of The Past
I pick a volume of my paper journal off the kitchen floor- where the tide of our removals has dumped it. There's a marker at a conversation I had with my father in October '02. He asks me if I am satisfied with my life so far and I say I am because it has been interesting. I should have thrown the question back at him, shouldn't I? A month later he was dead.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject