Imagine getting old together. One day, we looked after each other, had red borscht with dumplings for dinner, and then a wee moment on the sofa to settle our stomachs before the evening walk. Maybe continue reading
Month: Sep 2022
High definition
I never realised that the extra pixels of high definition could make such a big difference. Call me sentimental, but I kind of liked the bleary picture of my shabby telly. continue reading
The thing we are good at
And so we, earthlings, made our first attempt at playing celestial billiards. I’m really glad that we decided to make this effort to save ourselves from the fate of the dinosaurs. continue reading
The cleanest books
Being an open book exposes you to marginalia scribblers, and you never know what you will get: a gloss in Korean or a casual critique; an early attempt at ornate drolleries; continue reading
There is nothing wrong with my choice of colours
We are strangers who happen to have children together. You’ve made it clear. And I’m not objecting to that, as we never really got past the flatmates stage, regardless of the official piece of jewellery, so why pretend to be friends now continue reading
My finely encased fountain pen
Lying dormant for years, my fountain pen has lost its ability to inspire me to transcend all the rubicons of corporeality. I used to believe that, once baptised continue reading
Passing away
As worn out as a shellac record and just as brittle, I’ve got my mug shot stamped in a book of wraiths. continue reading
The importance of being a fool
I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine, I promise. It’s just that I can no longer remember what it’s like to gently brush my fingers over that brief moment of silence in anticipation, which, like any attempt to hold on to a long bygone present, continue reading
All you need
What on earth were you thinking? That you could live your life without subtitles, as if you stood at the fireplace, bereaved but free, burning cocktail sticks and never-opened letters, and all you needed continue reading
Starting over
I guess it’s good to hang onto something tangible, like seedless grapes in a disposable clamshell container, for example. In the end, it’s always been all about convenience, hasn’t it? But you are not listening, darling, continue reading
We shall remember
You don’t have to say anything. Anything at all. Just slip out of your shoes. The water is still warm. You know, I tried to remember the last time we had a bath together. Perhaps you might recall it, although does it really matter? continue reading
The lovers
Once upon a time, before we were supposed to be happy — I mean, de jure — we used to be just like that — happy when left to our own devices. Of course, there were certain continue reading
The old olive trees
I have never touched the trunk of an olive tree. I doubt I ever will, since they don’t grow up north, where I live, and I prefer to avoid the swelter they thrive in. So as long as I stay here, I will not suffer, continue reading
Where the coarse seams join
If I stayed overnight, allowing myself to see perfection but phrasing it differently, how cruel would it be? Or if you waited too long, so neither of us knew which part still deserved to be considered good enough to play, who should call the wager? continue reading
The song of the birds
Ignoring unguided fingers slowly sliding over the burnished neck of Casals’ violoncello in El cant dels ocells, a sense of decorum, a relentless companion of pity, renders the unnecessary ceremony continue reading
The reality of desire
If the ancients knew the art of statistics, would they still believe in that little rascal Cupid? It’s hard not to succumb to the reality of numbers continue reading
A silent answer
Why am I still jealous of my old flatmate? We parted long ago. I moved to town with my dusty desk and overloaded bookshelves. She stayed in the suburbs, with her windowsills full of flowerpots continue reading
Watchers
I guess I’m lucky with my undisturbed daddy long-legs sitting on the ceiling with offspring, as watching the thirteen little ones, not bigger continue reading
The breakfast of the seventh day
I measure my week with the flatbreads I make on the first day, but for some reason, I’m always one piece short. Perhaps it all boils down to the slightly too small bowl for making the dough, continue reading
The future rival of the past
Do I have the right to feel so much older than I used to? After all, it hasn’t been that long continue reading
One language is enough
I don’t know French, although it sounds beautiful in songs. I would definitely like to know German as there is so much to learn in, say, Über Gewissheit. But I know some English continue reading
Père-Lachaise
I’m a time traveller. It all began when I was seven, though it didn’t really start until I reached ten or so. At first, being cautious, I stuck to the not-so-distant continue reading
Honesty is an a cappella song
Holding myself accountable for things not turning out the way I wanted always required a tad more honesty than I could muster at any one time, like an attempt at the mundane touted as an elaborate kintsugi exercise, continue reading
I’m not a bad person
Life insurance covers the event of death, but what insures me in the event of life? So far, I keep my hands above the table, even though most of the time I have no idea what to do with them. continue reading
hidden pilcrow 