Every time it rains in the morning it feels like the first day of fall.
I'm still afraid of switching my phone on to see if he's written or called. I've stopped checking my e-mails and keep asking people in the village if they've ever heard of Avy Stanford. No one has and it makes me breathe a little lighter, at least for a while until it all comes back to me like missing heartbeats.
Easter came and went, like Christmas it never meant anything significant to me as a child. At best they were times when we overcame our dysfunctionalities and pretended we were a family for a couple of days. Mother would tell me stories from her youth, all of them fabricated but from honest intentions. My father would look at her with love, the way he remembered her from when they first met (this is what he told me). I would say that I miss those times but it was too long ago and I sometimes think that every damn thing has changed somewhere along the way.