Status Updates From Dějiny lásky

Every year, the memories I have of my father become mode faint, unclear, and distant. Once they were vivid and true, then they became like photographs, and now they are more like photographs of photographs. But sometimes, at rare moments, a memory of him will return to me with such suddenness and clarity that all the feeling I’ve pushed down for years springs out like a jack-in-the-box.

Picking up another devastating (I can feel it coming) book right after my last was a great idea (I am having fun). I probably (soon) won’t be.