Sunday, 3 January 2016


Grief has a complex rhythm all its own. Staccato....beating triple time; then suddenly syncopated.
It swells and ebbs as grey days seep slowly one into another, and nights stretch beyond endurance.
With old photographs and fresh memories to anchor us, we move in time to this strange music; finding solace in remnants. A penknife, smooth and heavy; that sits in the curve of a palm, or the whisper of cashmere; a final warm caress.

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