Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Keegin Munsamy: 0018


I am done with that piece of paper. All it reads is a eulogy and then at the end the birth of something. The rest is all mixed up and fragmented. I put the pen and paper back with something special. She looks at me. She is about to come back. This is not us waiting for our boat ride. This is not her telling me to go and then come back. This is her going alone. She stares back at me as she hands in her ticket. This is not a bus ride. This is not a train. All I know is that she has reading material and I am burning for her to come back.