The wooden cube poked through my shirt and pricked my skin — I didn’t loosen my hold. Sandra tugged, Louis pulled; I tightened my grip. They called me names. I held tighter. They pushed me. I held tighter still.
Letting go of the block meant letting go of Papa.I’ve been listening to a whole lot of James Blake in the past twenty-four hours. Such awesome songwork. I highly recommend his Klavierwerke EP.