we walk for half an hour, me carrying this chocolate-pineapple cake i just made and trying to find their flat on my little map drawing with the address and street names only i can read. when we get there, we get to experience an italian way of making veggies, french one to fry goat cheese, and after the first bottle, we start - of course - about men in our lives. eventually, eyes stay on me asking how slovakia was.
was good. i met with my friends, fam, i just stayed in bratislava longer than expected. i dont want to go further, cause i dont know how to name him, what to say, what to think myself. but, yes, a question follows: why? i just shake my shoulders, tell them about his mom, our story that dates back to the time when i was young and stupid - more young and more stupid than i am now. they understand, have no suggestions, we do not need to discuss further.
why do you care about him so much and why do you get upset when he doesnt write? she asks when we get home.
because he will father my kids, one day
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