And The Birds Keep Flying
I woke up at 5:10AM today, comfortably warm in my bed, not wanting to leave. By 7AM I was at work, and by 9AM I was in the van heading back home, listening to Duke Ellington's The Single Petal of a Rose from 1976.
The view was pretty, birds and greenery and streams, old abandoned villas and faltering factories. 'King's Court' town used to be called that for a reason, a hunting ground made for a royal, now reduced to black rubber dust.
He's gone, and my heart's dropped like never before.
We looked through the urns, pointing at some and laughing at how terrible they look. I found a simple ceramic brown one which we ended up picking.
The funeral parlour lady's husband died only 2 months ago, a fact which she said as a piece of advice to me when I asked if I can see Děda before he gets cremated. We plan to travel with his urn by car all the way to Belgrade. It all sounds like a Jafar Panahi road trip film.
After the parlour, me and Bibi went to get ice cream and Czech-made socks for a few people, to the Freshlabels concept store and to the DM drugstore. I splurged on a big blue Freitag bag (to commemorate my grandad's death?), as I felt a deep deep urge to spend money.
I spent the evening making strawberry & apricot dumplings for someone I don't like. I watched them bubble in the water until they floated up to the surface. I'll never make them for you either.
I end my day with Bibi putting butterfly shaped plasters on my back.
The birds keep flying, and I'll keep on living, in light of your name that rolls and cuts your tongue in one long stroke. I hope I'll make you proud when I surround myself with people I love and love me back. I'll always walk with you along the lake holding your hand, and eat blueberry dumplings while you watch me scoff them down.
Volim te