Epilogue to Homeless — Poste Restante

Sometimes images just haunt you. Words likewise. This morning I am hauted by both of them.

I can’t touch you,
but your words touch me
like petals from abandoned flowers
blown forgotten to the wind,
a laugh lived but once,
given life and gentle death,
gone, but held forever,
as the leaves turn gold
falling, like we always fall.

(The brilliant image is by my former student Jonne Sippola (used here with her permission),
the quote from a poignant poem I just read in Medium by Heath Houston).

They just don’t let me go.

Vilja is taking down her exhibition… and Mia — as the words and images of all the others — is fading away.

It’s pissing with rain and the autumn is definitely here.

I wonder what has happened to all these people? Man, it’s cold and dark out there.

Yes, it was a beautiful project and I am proud of what we did.

But I wonder are we also falling”…like we always fall”?

They just don’t let me go.

______________

Poste Restante by Vilja Harala | DocImages