Flickering city lights. Magnified drops of rain roll down the French windows. "How do you feel about moving?" I ask him. "Well, we are going to have to leave some day ", he answers. And then it strikes me: longing, in part, is because you are filled with nostalgia attached to a place. The trick is to move before the magic fades away. I stand there sipping tea pensively, looking out the window. An unknown bird lands on the railing.
in the donation box a cat I never had