I discovered that brown is the color of all grandmothers’ souls. Like when you step into their homes and the floor hugs you, saying: “Go ahead, step all you want, I’ll hold you.” A color that seems heavy but smells like coffee—just like my grandma.
Writing again was something I had planned for retirement.
But since working until I die seems more likely, I decided to move the project up.
This blog is a reunion — with my texts, with another time, and with myself — as if it were still 2007.
