SO, SHE CALLS

No one, or almost no one, asks me about her. I understand it. They must think that a question may awake sensations, tears or whatever emotion that is hard to handle (specially when is not yours). I wish someone did. I have a friend that once asked me to tell her the story: the whole story. I did and talking about it was both healing and helpful for my writing. Although I sometimes forget, it is not only about a novel, as it is not only about a lost sister . This: the feeling, the writing, is about something larger. It is about loss and being unable to grief.

Grief, such a short word for such an overwhelming sensation.

So there I am in a sunday morning dressed in my thoughts (these six or seven lines that you have just read in a summarized version of my thinking process) when the telephone rings.

I am thinking about her, so she calls.
That's how it works.