June 19, 2016 § 1 Comment
It was a hot humid day. At the same beach where this hotel has now its umbrellas, I used to come swimming with my grandma and cousins. Grandma wore a huge black swimming suit that looked almost like a dress to me. My mum always bought for me a red bikini, sometimes with white dots. Grandma had a long white ponytail, I had a long black ponytail. She couldn’t swim, I could. She’s gone, I’m still here. Underwater. Love.
The Sirens call the names. The names of the lost loves. It is the water that transports their moans, that turns them into a song, that ties its strophes with sea grass at the backboard of the passing ships. And they hear them. And they stop. And they sink. And the Sirens learn their names.