Intermezzo

The grief that has no funeral, no memories, no name.

Grieving something that never was and never will be is a special sort of hell.

Wild Side · Elsie Silver

Πώς αλλάζει ένα σπίτι όταν μένει άδειο

“It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire. The old house on the hill wore its steep, gabled roof pulled over its ears like a low hat. The walls, streaked with moss, had grown soft, and bulged a little with dampness that seeped up from the ground. The wild, overgrown garden was full of the whisper and scurry of small lives. In the undergrowth a rat snake rubbed itself against a glistening stone. Hopeful yellow bullfrogs cruised the scummy pond for mates. A drenched mongoose flashed across the leaf strewn driveway.

Ο θεός των μικρών πραγμάτων · Arundhati Roy

What you say when a perfect week is almost over.

Let’s pretend that time doesn’t exist. Let’s pretend that this week isn’t ending. Let’s pretend that we will always be us—happy, sunburnt, and tangled up together.

The Summer of Broken Rules · K.L. Walther