cards during the day, hitchcock at night. we count the days
until our new flat. my family’s house bears this smell of home
that you know is not quite your own. we collect hugs
and laugh in the evenings under the garden lights. my father greets us
every day in his unmistakeable morning voice.
we all share the coffee and when it’s noon, everyone spends their time
chattering in the kitchen and
giving each other cooking orders.
the walls breathe here and
after a week, I am able to distinguish the small noises my mother makes
from my sister’s walk and my brother’s cough.
we sleep on mattresses that
once completed children’s beds, trying to
hug each other across the thin
floor space between them. we wake up at twelve and
don’t move until we see each other
Laura Motavasseli was born in Vienna and is stubbornly holding on to the idea of writing a book one day. Meanwhile, she spends her days studying something completely different, frowning at people on the evening train and petting the neighbour’s cat.
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