Absence







When someone raises their voice or begins to cry, I close my eyes and sit down.

I am far, far away, falling asleep in a house in the middle of a snowdrift. The floors are mounted with a deep pile and the walls soundproofed. It is the dead of winter: no bird sound, only the sound of the snow sliding from the trees. I take a pair of scissors and cut out the windows. The snow comes in. 
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