Cry, cry for you
It doesn't take me too much effort to cry, I cry all the time.
I always cry when watching a film when the villain dies at the end, that is when I realise that I am over-exercising my stockholm syndrome.
Sometimes I cry when reading some people writing stories of kindness under YouTube about their late father.
Perhaps imagining you reciting Szymborska’s poem in Polish in front of the The Palazzo dei Normanni in Palermo, is a good reason to cry. Fantasising the future we could have, maybe we will travel all over the world. Get bored of wizzing all over the place and searching, settle down, have children one day.
From the jetty afar hearing Miriam Makeba’s Click Song, it was Kirsti’s funeral song. It took me back, the crematorium seeing your casket for the final time. Everything happened so quickly, I didn’t even have the time to grasp the final moment with you, yet all seems to be an eternality. Now I am writing to you in Africa, my first time, in your birth land.
Words have so much power to me.
Ironically, I am not very good at expressing with words.
Is good memory a blessing or curse?
When everything happened to us so vivid in my deepest thoughts.
