It seems like death insists on keeping as close as never before. I barely started accepting that my uncle has passed away when I got another slap on my face. The day started slow, raining and somewhat cold. something was in the air but I could not tell what it was.
Then, all of a sudden, the news came from home.I started hating those news coming from home. They all have carry that feeling of repressive heat, the smell of smoke and ashes… The new fog of smoke announced the death of yet another uncle… Do I still have any strength to take it (the third person in a row)?