Monday 28 May
Without her, the world is a palette of dull, unsaturated colors, so dull that I cannot even bother to get up this morning. Only the wind brings vibrant memories of the places it’s been, where she is now, where I could be too. This morning, the breeze was alive with Farah. I could taste the whisper of her name, the sigh of her voice, the echo of her laugh. Closing my eyes, I absorb her image: blues-y eyes, jazzy smile, waltzing step.
Farah is walking again. Sometimes she feels so close that I can almost touch her; other times, she is so far, I will never reach her. Again, the wind breathes against my face. I easily shoulde