anetamazur.blog

My daughter comes downstairs. It is a Tuesday and she’s off to school. She is in the middle of an exam frenzy—twenty-one in total.

I was annoyed when I woke up: heavy dreams, a heavy head, things to do.

She comes downstairs and I look at her. Really look. I stand between the kitchen and the hallway and look at my daughter.

Sitting on the floor, she’s putting her shoes on. She doesn’t untie her shoelaces; she never liked tying her shoelaces. She pushes her feet in, as usual.

I look at her long hair, her back in a grey uniform blazer, her long legs. A moment that will evaporate, leaving no trace. No proof of this will remain.

She stands up and, without looking at me, says, ‘Bye, guys.’

‘Bye, lovie,’I say, filled with tenderness