Henry casually talking to me from across a restaurant table - a scene so familiar the feeling of déjà vu fails to surprise me. He never just breaks the silence, Henry, he violently rips it apart and every word is a plane crash in the desert. He talks about Paris and the apartment near the Jardin des Serres d'Auteuil. His sister has sent him pictures of parquet floors, floral tapestries and a small balcony facing the Boulogne forest.
In four days he's leaving but the distance between us is already endless. I will miss him, he will forget me and a summer later it will all start over again. He speaks and I try to pay attention but in between the stories and the musings my mind gets lost in the realization that I never knew he had a sister.
No comments:
Post a Comment