Dear dad.

This is what I remember: Your cheeks didn’t sting. I pitied the children who had to hug bearded, itchy-stinging men good night. You smelled of strong tobacco and sweet pot, not bitter sweat, like the miners, or spicy, like Joe. You laughed a lot. You had long legs that never tired, and a voice that... Continue Reading →

The letters

I am beginning to forget things Like my reading glasses or the sentence I just read what I was about to say why I am having a conversation who this very familiar person is Today, I found myself staring at my screen, having no idea why I opened my laptop oblivious to the fact that... Continue Reading →

Welcome to my mailbox

Feel free to read my letters. Who knows, one of them might even be meant for you. English is my first language. I believed it to be the language of my parents, until my mother turned out to be Norwegian. From the time she relocated me from London, I only spoke english with my father.... Continue Reading →

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