Your heavy head in my lap, my warm thighs pressing against the torn vinyl seat on a bumpy train in Serbia. She just won’t stop talking, asking questions, ignoring the fact that you are asleep and me in my own world shielded by my supposed to be noise cancelling earphones. But Bose ain’t got nothing on Bosiljka. ”You are from Sweden. My son lives in Germany.” she repeats. She is at least 80 years old but a healthy country life has kept her strong and alert in every way but mentally. We’ve been on this train for hours now.
She falls asleep eventually, mid sentence, probably offering some of her ham once again. In my ears now ”Jelena” by Xylitol, the perfect soundtrack for a bumpy train ride in Serbia. Choppy drums and breaks, that old school crackly sound that reminds me of skin burning under the Balkan sun, or sweaty pearls rolling down my forehead. I feel the heaviness of the past years on my shoulders as I drift away, following you and Bosiljka into a dream of a train ride in Serbia on a hot summer’s day.
Lämna ett svar