Start with how your father died.At home, in his bed, at 3 a.m.,quarrelling with invisible beings.Naming them bastards.All of this time, you slept in your own cozy bed in a faraway city,unaware of his last battle. You might have dreamtin soft pastel colors.When you awoke, a text message from your brotherannounced that your father had passed.You tried to remember his face, but you couldn’t.You tried to remember if you ever loved him,but you couldn’t.You tried to remember him alive, but you couldn’t.When the shops reopened you bought two black T-shirtsand a pair of black pants. You took the first train homeand after one and a half yearsyou arrived … too late to hold the handthat slapped your mother’s face.
