I often wonder why you left me in the jungle with two dogs, though I am well aware that there is no reason, meaning or answer to that question.
I am beginning to hate the Olympics and election campaigns. They remind me of my last months with you, exactly four years ago. Summer in this house is tough, and it’s not the heat. It gets to me.
It rained earlier, and the ground that had been scorched by the sun smells like resurrected earth again. It makes me think of rebirth.
I am here.