I leaf through the photographs and among the last ones on the desk there is a picture of my sister, my paternal grandmother and my father, all three looking straight into the camera. This comes out of the blue, and my instant gut reaction is to destroy the picture, but as I am looking at the next one, already, I remind myself that even though it was taken with my camera, it was not taken by me.



Ms Dark hair is sitting opposite me, there are two cups of hot chocolate on the table. She reminds me of genetics. I remind her how I have never been good enough for the man I called my father. She has a point or two, though.



She sees through me. She suggests I give the print to my sister along with the other ones, and keep the negative in case I ever change my mind. She tells me to keep the memories till then.



The memories. I try to forget fleeing to my room every time he crossed the front door, that I have never been good enough at maths, have always been told to be good for nothing. I try to remember that once in my lifetime, in his lifetime, I almost made him cry, but I no longer crave revenge, though I'll forever hate promises broken and I can cite a handful of words ending in "lenke". A pretty name, nonetheless.



She sees through me because she tells me I don't have to prove anything, anymore. She tells me I don't have to be more than a girl and I think that after all these years, that will be hard enough.

Maybe in a few years' time, if I can invoke any good memories, this will become a writing in [hours].