An old train, that sort of pale sunshine from outside, or maybe the windows are too dirty, an ever changing group of people, some young, some older, some of them silent, some talking silently. A book in my hand, then his hand, we are both reading. Outside the countryside, with large patches of snow and water and muddy fields, trees without leaves, seemingly everything asleep. A land far away, a great big distance from Earth, space travel, ethics and questions of life. Simple. Almost three hours, almost falling asleep, silent and hazy.

He is still the same, maybe 50 cm's taller. Age 14, almost, but inside basically the 9 years old once I met. I have no idea what thoughts he might be thinking, but he lets me cut his hair.

I miss smiles, too, and from the way he is looking at me I know he misses my smiles, misses the prospectives. We walk into the grocery store, unknown aisles, buying staples for tomorrow and maybe the day after. Filling up on what we had missed, missing other things now. At least there is sunshine.

I keep thinking how much easier it would be if she only listened to answers. I was speaking at the top of my voice and I knew it didn't get through to her and I shiver when the thought of what she said last time comes back to me, too real, I wish I could scream, but I carry on with my tasks and duties thinking I knew what I'd have to deal with.

Two swans drifting below, like yesterday, or was it the day before. The bridge is long. First you cross to the small peninsula, mistakenly named an island, then you walk all the way over the river, which is a river. Sometimes there are wild geese flying in a v-shape way above your head. On weekends there are cyclists and people walking and running.

Coat off, pullover off, sparkling sunshine. It is time to make up for two years of lost sunshine. I am used to something so much colder, so much windier.

Sleep doesn't come easy, though there is enough room. It is way too warm, even without a blanket, and it is only the first day of March. Five drops of lavender oil on a terracotta ring, placed at the head of the bed, which is, in fact, the foot of the bed, but we thought we might sleep better with our head to that direction. Breezeless warmth, cool lavender. Thinking of them and what they said about not saying goodbye.

I can talk to her, so I talk to her. Sitting in the car, waiting for her two sons to emerge from the doctor's waiting room.

Advertisements for houses, apartments, flats. A huge map, yet another, and a newer one from last year. Telephone calls to people without faces. Questions and answers and there is no need to be polite, not with most of them, and I don't even want to try.

Only 19 messages in my mailbox after a day of work. Eyes ache, first real day back in the office, plenty of things to catch up on, but it feels like a shelter as there is no need to think of what may come next, and this is what I tell him.