On the table there is an empty glass water bottle holding marigolds my mother took from the plot outside, which technically belongs to the government. How she manages to justify this with all her political views and party involvement I don’t understand, but I’ve long reconciled with the notion that my mother’s madness has no method, no modus operandi.
The sky gets so dark at night here. I look out from behind rusted shutters and can only hear the sound of the waves.
School starts in less than two weeks.