A call across distance to a certain grey wisdom. He takes his time to make me feel am just a remembered name perhaps he wanted to prepare the mental ground that what the hearts knew has to be veiled. Neither of them wanted it to hurt too awful. So a communication gap does the trick of a hurt that hits harder than any other. I hang on to every word noticing the effort, the way an understanding brother would hoodwink a sister so that she believes no ghosts exist. Congo… he says it as he would say growling lion to athree year old. I agree with every word, every effort to hope the hurt hits less hard. I know am unwanted totally, I learn to pretend I don’t notice the effort from the one yet to reach congo, the other who almost saw him there. They try to make a grief easy. I make it easy for them by silencing a wound that shall be mine alone from the moment on. I decide never to let them know it had finished me within in a way I would never be the same again. Anyway I would die away within. Life was not meant for me. The Congo like tenacity that would shroud the buried life within me. My walk towards a Congo of another kind.
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