The tension melts away. The truth settles, as heavy as a leaden suitcase in life’s archive, finding its place and leaving a sense of fatigue and disheartenment. Everything has found its place, like when a puzzle is completed with the last few pieces joined together.
David explained everything in the last pages of his little diary, writing in irregular block letters, although they were legible, in invisible ink. Maybe just by soaking a cotton bud in lemon juice could it be read, because that’s another way of doing it. There are a few lines per page occupying all of December, day after day, to clarify everything.
I’ve recently been reliving my grandfather’s death more and more often, no longer having remembered it. For years, I believed it occurred after an incident I caused without m
