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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile


12.21.21


Winter solstice. On the shortest day of the year, I think of Dad. I don’t think about him often. But the thought of him comes at random times, peculiar and strong, triggered by nothing out of the ordinary. How I might want to call him to tell him about something that happened. How I want another mildly exasperating email from him telling me to brush my teeth or learn to drive. How I want to know more about his life before he became a refugee. How I want to explain every misunderstanding and misstep. How I want to say I’m sorry and I forgive you and didn’t we had it right before you died? When the light is at its briefest, there is still love, a bonfire in the darkest of times, ever blazing even on the coldest of days. “Love doesn’t die when we die. It is our resurrection.”—Etel Adnan




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