July 30th, 2013

Always with food. No hunger. Since I a child. Like a father, almost. Not gentle, though not crude either. Would come with a kettle, say eat, read a book. Show a toilet. I would do. Then sit behind the house, in front of my hut, count the trees. To five, then five more, a lot of fives. Trees green most of the time. Birds, and beasts, say don’t go further, for the beasts. I would not. Rather read. Beasts there enough. And else. No need to go. Would eat, read, toilet. Count to fives and fall asleep. Dream of things I can’t tell clearly. Sometimes crying. Laughing. Would say – don’t cry, it’s just a dream. Give me a pancake. Be there. Just be there. And so for many times – more than fives I know about.
Then stopped coming. Would look for in the house, but nothing. Pick some grass, some leaves. Sleep so much more so as to lose the count of times. Then stop counting, for if fall asleep besides the hut – fear of a beast. Would stay inside. Mostly laying down. Not read. Not dream. Nothing to count. But the still. No beast here. It will come, father.

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