Everything stopped moving yesterday – ever since that call, the world came to a standstill. I don’t remember what I am doing throughout this time, the only memory I have is broken into screens where I see what’s happening around me, as if I didn’t live those moments myself but somebody put them into my head, asking me to accept it as reality.
That call – something about death, but it couldn’t be true;
the ride to the hospital, surely it’s not true;
the ride back home, is it true?;
nothing;
and then: this shroud?
My 17 years old son?
Burhan Abban 