It's four-thirty in the morning. The weather is so conducive to sleeping, and I've only had less than four hours. I nearly gave up on running but I'm glad I didn't. The cold feels even better when it slices itself on your face as you run or bike.
I.
He wanted to be alone, he said. He said it was because of his brother. Earlier, in the car, we told him that today would have been Francesco's birthday. He imagined how we looked like. You are not alone, I thought. We live our lives not just as our own, anak. As with Jairus
. A few days ago, I heard him say, "See, I don't only think of myself. I'm not selfish."
V.
We were literally, rolling on the bed laughing. We thought we heard words from her today: lollipop, Peppa, Daddy. We heard the most beautiful peals of laughter.
I wash dishes, mop the floor, walk to the convenience store for drinks. And while waiting for D. to put the kids to sleep, while waiting for D to come down to join me for the drinks, I listen to Puccini, E Lucevan Le Stelle, a song I picked up from Daniel Klein's book. Spotify still has chillout playlists.
D.
She comes down and we drink together. Souls alight in this restful, rewarding, blissful quiet of night.
