“let go of the old light.
that is what the evening is for.”
— nayirrah waheed
I spent the Sunday of my eventful, long, and strangely out-of-equilibrium week with 1/3 of my dearest friends here – he who, whenever it is just us in deep conversation, listens not with his ears but his whole being – in his preferred café in this sleepy city-town. The two of us were comfortably seated on the high chairs by the front window, our backs to the counter, listlessly watching the coming-and-going of cars and visitors to the café. I spoke from the heart, he listened with his heart.
And this is how you know.