“It’s another day of pouring another drink and another day of waiting for love.” Zenei murmured, twisting and killing the last cent of his cigarette in the ash tray, over filling with his past drags. The Uncle would always pour his thoughts into the ash tray. Each puff, a piece of wisdom finding peace. Ben Geinon, his delighted nephew would often find himself the victim of Zenei’s company, and although it was overwhelming at times, it soothed the soul.
How often do you have despair and hopelessness searching through your soul?
I will write second. But only because you deserve it.
I will write to you first, my darling.