“Yes, the talking had a … an accent to it. Mother would draw words out or she would make them short. Her voice would sound high and low, like the wind.” “That is singing,” I suddenly realize. “Can you talk like that?” “Singing is not talking. It is song.” “Can you do it too?” she says. I take a deep breath but find no music in my memory. “I’m sorry. I cannot remember a single song,” I say.
This world is so confusing its almost not even real...
