I ran to look for my father. At the same time I was afraid of having to wish him a happy year in which i no longer believed. He was leaning against the wall, bent shoulders sagging as if under a heavy load. I went up to him, took his hand and kissed it. I felt a tear on my hand. Whose was it? Mine? His? I said nothing. Nor did he. Never before had we understood each other so clearly.
0 comments:
Post a Comment