september, xxx.

Još malo pa će ponoć. Neko me nešto pitao za Bosnu i ja sam eksplodirala. Razlog? Pitala me prošli tjedan kad ću kući. Plus mu je danas rođendan a ne poznam ga 27 godina. Pa šta da kažem? Na to sve?

Had to step out for a brisk walk in the fresh autumnal air. The evening suffocated me.

You know the way you sometimes hope you won’t run into anyone you know but then, of course, you do? But I simply said I’d rather be alone.

And then the two of them. Barely kissed by life. The closest one sitting next to me asked, what’d you say to him? I couldn’t understand what she meant. She said, well, he went away after you spoke to him. And I told her. She was confused at the fact that it worked. She was confused at the fact that basic and more importantly, polite communication works.

The point is every action has a reaction. Every behavior is an action. You must understand this. You must understand the consequences of your own actions.

She held out her hand to, finally, introduce herself. I smelled of lime for hours afterward. He smiled with relief when he saw me sitting there; still. I realized he was glad because he thought I’d left already. But he never asks me anything. Only follows my movements with his brown eyes. Strangers in a familiar space.

Sixty minutes of my time. Sixty minutes of a Sunday. Eminem came on just before midnight and I thought about how we both changed. The kind of change that is good.

La Dame aux Camélias. Stephen King. Palestinian literature from a SOAS syllabus. The Brothers Karamazov. Sartre, always Sartre now.