The following day felt surreal. Not knowing what to do, I walked to the market. I bought simple but beautiful things. A couple heritage tomatoes, radishes, real butter, eggs.
They came in a funky little packaging, made a little clumsily by the cheese-monger’s neighbor, who had hens. A strange structure, between papier mâché the same color the sky was and Brutalist architecture, held together by a fragile set of rubber bands so tense they looked about to snap.
So fragile and so delicate, it was incredibly touching. At that moment, I felt exactly like that box. Holding everything together, trying not to fall apart.
There is beauty in patched up things. A friend, today, reminded me that there is much love there too…