Week Twenty Nine.

The boy saw that the old man was breathing and then he saw the old man’s hands and he started to cry. He went out very quietly to go to bring some coffee and all the way down the road he was crying.

The book: The Old Man & The Sea by Ernest Hemingway

The memory:

The following doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but me, but I want to remember right now that I miss them. So much.

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Excerpt from old journal entries, #3. I think this was one of my last days in Hue last year:

Pause. Just press pause. Can we just slow it down for one minute? I need time.

Can it ever be enough? Can the laughter ever be too loud? Can the moments ever be too precious? Can the love be too overflowing?

Wait a minute. I can pause. I can be still, but the world won’t. I just want to freeze these minutes with these kids – these amazing, talented, nurturing, loving kids. The moments pass too quickly for me to inhale it all in. Well, I don’t need the moments to pause, maybe I just need them to happen in slow motion. I need that extra 1/100th of a second to breathe deeply, that second 1/100th s for my heart to swell, that third 1/100th s for my ears to harmonize their symphony of voices, that fourth 1/100th s for my eyes to take a mental snapshot of each beaming face.

from 29 July 2012

It’s been a year, and I don’t miss them any less.

End, Memory Twenty Nine.

Next Week: A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf

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