It was Mother’s Day last year in France. The sun was high in the sky when I heard his voice on the phone. I knew it would be him who would call. Even though we hardly ever speaki s; we are too much alike to have anything to say to each other.
Someone told me that there was probably not any better day to pass away for a mother than Mother’s Day. I wish this person would have just shut the fuck up since nothing needed to be said… Anyway.
To write, to shout, to scream, everywhere; the sorrow, the grief, the regrets.
But nothing apart from void and emptiness.