It is December again. My birthday. It is also the day when John Lennon was shot. A man went up to him and shot him outside his home in New York, wife next to him. Simply shot him. I can't understand it; won't for days. "The good die young," says Jenny Penny during our phone conversation. "Why?" I ask. But she pretends not to hear me, pretends that the line is bad. She always does that when she doesn't have an answer. I go to bed early that night, inconsolable. I don't even blow out the candles on my cake. "One candle's already gone out in the world," I say. I leave my presents for another day. There is simply nothing to celebrate. Fra side 131 i When God Was a Rabbit av Sarah Winman.
Mjuk og fin låt til morrakaffen dette. Ble litt melankolsk, men får riste deg av meg.
SvarSlettHa en fin dag. :)
Bjørn
Lenge siden jeg har drukket kaffe nå, det har fått mest i te. I morgen tidlig skal jeg lage meg en kopp jeg også.
SlettHåper du fikk ristet av deg melankolien.
God kveld og morgendag til deg! :-)