How terribly depressing.
I went to class, as usual, and met my friend there. I wanted to give her a hug, but she only agreed to shake my hand, saying, 'I'll explain it later.'
Having a few minutes to spare, I brought her to the side and asked her what happened.
She replied, 'You see, Georgians don't touch someone from the opposite sex to any degree beyond shaking hands when they're in grief.'
I asked her who died, and she said, 'My grandfather.'
You see, her grandfather was a very intelligent man. He spoke 7 languages (if I'm not mistaken), amongst which were Hebrew, English, Russian, Georgian, German, and Mandarin. And he's gone now.
The worst part of it is, I've never had a chance to see him.
Naturally, I crossed. Usually, I cross half-jokingly, but now I felt what it's like to cross whole-heartedly. She chuckled and said I'd get beaten if I'm seen. I said I don't mind, I'll beat them back.
'Don't worry,' she said. 'In three days I'll be able to hug you again.'
I wanted to write something in his memory, a little elegy. But when I sat to write this post, I lost all my poetic energy. I can't even write a few lines in blank verse.
…
Come, will-o'-the-wisp.
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