Why we are lonely. Memory is a kind of script. And even then, not getting a photo of you, of your arm. And even then, not covering it all. And even then I tired, not making as much effort as I should have, not staying longer.
Memory is a kind of danger.
The end of the war-Sweden made those words possible for you. Working again as a seamstress, this time for kind women for pay. A time of recuperate before returning to assess absolute loss. Wicked and unmovable loss. Memory is a kind of stone.