The box where I keep some photographs.
I still keep, in a box that once held fine chocolates, photos of Paul. Alone and with me. Or with his university friends. Some images of the last ultrasound I had done, shortly before entering my fifth month of pregnancy. You can barely see anything—just blurry gray spots and rounded shapes—but I’ve always found it beautiful. And I keep all that, because those photos are important to me. It feels disrespectful to throw them away just because the people in them are no longer here or because it makes me sad to think about them. I keep them, because that’s how I remember them and carry them in my heart.
Alexander, since he had nothing else to do but take care of his children, was in my room while I packed, at that moment changing Sasha’s diaper using m
