Calendar leaves on the carpet. All the windows open all over the house. Coffee cups are shaking, falling, breaking. The house smells of coffee all over. I'm opening the door.
I hear more of a voice. My mother's voice. He gives away all his secret feelings. She used to try and win by feeding her pigeons.
We're looking at my mom through the window. Smiling. Smiles flaking off the lips while smiling. He's coming to the room. Looks like he's carrying someone's absence. He leaves what he wants to talk at his lips. Her lips are purple. His heart is black. The old shirt smells on his vest.
Tobacco on skirts. Hair strands between fingers. He takes out the buckle on his head and throws his hair around. He throws the buckle into the garden. He starts to rip the curtains out of the ground. He takes his revenge from the curtains. Poor curtains. He wants the sun. But this cruel doesn't show him anything. There is no choice but to wait tomorrow with hope.