La Douleur by Marguerite Duras

This is the horror.

Of war and of what comes after; the time that passes between war and peace.

I lived with these stories during my short trip to Paris; the hours between learning about the sudden loss of a dear friend on the bus from Beauvais to the city, and returning home to the devastating cold of the Stockholm streets. It may sound strange, but it was truly a comfort in a weird way.

Rest in Peace, hermanolito. I love you, tú sabes.

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