This time, it’s not words that fail me. It’s my sorrow. For everytime I say something, or write something about the loss that Bibik went through, I feel too much. I feel my own words as I don’t think I can come close to understanding how it feels to wait for someone who goes away before she arrives. It wasn’t the wait that was long enough. It was an arrival that wasn’t.
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I will call Bibik later today if words would say it and if thoughts would count.
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Questa è Enida 
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