a doll’s house

I bought a toy for the buka. In the bag from the toyshop, I found an advertisement for other toys -- classic, well-made wooden barns, trainyards, and dollhouses. In all the sets, the “families” consist of a father and a mother, and a boy and a girl. White-haired, well-dressed grandparents sold separately.

My heart goes to my throat when I see little kids, just toddling along, holding their mom’s hand on one side, and their dad’s on the other.

There are whole imagined scenarios in my head about what it must be like to watch a child in wonder and delight, and to feel all those feelings wordlessly multiplied by sharing the experience with somebody else whose feelings are exactly the same.

I chose a lonely life when I moved to Greece, or sometime before. But it’s not what I wanted for the buka.