Večeras sam u mobitelu pregledavala i birala fotografije koje ću preko Vibera poslati bakama i djedovima, kada mi je pogled zapeo baš za ovu…

Kako je lijepo znati da ćeš se u jednom trenutku okrenuti i vratiti natrag. Dokle god to budeš činio, trebat ćeš me i ja ću biti sretna.

Onoga dana kada se prestaneš osvrtati da vidiš idem li i kada mi prestaneš razdragano trčati natrag u zagrljaj, mislim da ću znati da sam ostarila… Zapravo je to jedini razlog tvojega nevraćanja s kojim bih se mogla nositi. Svaki drugi razlog mi je nezamisliv.

—

Saying Goodbye to Very Young Children

by John Updike

They will not be the same next time. The sayings

so cute, just slightly off, will be corrected.

Their eyes will be more skeptical, plugged in

the more securely to the worldly buzz

of television, alphabet, and street talk,

culture polluting their gazes’ pure blue.

It makes you see at last the value of

those boring aunts and neighbors (their smells

of summer sweat and cigarettes, their faces

like shapes of sky between shade-giving leaves)

who knew you from the start, when you were zero,

cooing their nothings before you could be bored

or knew a name, not even your own, or how

this world brave with hellos turns all goodbye.