They say no stop

How can you pass by as the flowers are such red 

How don’t you stop to this tree hidden to itself

My eyes too much to pass

I grew up with three memories of my father. Thirty-two years after his death, I found one more.
My memories are all from before the age of three, the age I was when he died.

All I recall from that day are shards, fragments.
The rumbling train ride to the eastern city.
Hans’ height, the gentle hunch in his back.
Ria’s tight hug around my waist, those cerulean eyes