They are coming today. I know they are. They’re coming and I will see them again, and it will be just like old times. They will have grown surely, but I won’t notice it. At least not with my eyes. If I grab hold of them tight enough when they arrive in that initial embrace, I should notice it. I will feel it. I will feel they’re here and feel a year of longing vanish.

I will tell them stories. I want to tell them who I am. I want to tell them about my life and what I wish I’d known when I was their age. I hope they don’t make the same mistakes I made. No, that’s not true. I don’t have any regrets. I am utterly content, and I love my life. I do. I really do. I hope they don’t have any regrets. I hope they won’t.

I… I want to show them who they are! They should know where they come from. I’ll reveal the stories behind the pictures on the walls in the hallway. They will just have to explain to me what they see on them, so I can remember which frame has which photo. I’ve tried hovering over them to scan from the corner of my eye, but I can’t really distinguish anything. I hope they’ll help me. I hope they’ll listen. They should know this, for one day… one day…

I want to tell them about my siblings, and the stupid fights we had. How I was taught that nothing ever truly was my own and we had to share everything. I love them. How I miss them…

And how I was born during and in spite of bombings. How I have persisted. In everything. That I have simply refused to let despair win, and how it really is the hardest thing one can do. But one must. One simply must.

They should know history, old times. I will be sure to tell them. So it won’t…

One cannot hold on to everything forever. There will come a time when… When they grow older, they will have to… And their friends, their lovers, their family, … They all…

But one has songs, games, food, dancing and laughter, joy, safety, comfort, love, plays, books, films, stories, closure and memory. One always retains memories! Even if lately, I’ve had to remind myself of so much. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten! I know! I’ve always known. I’ve just not thought about it for a while. I don’t forget. I won’t forget.

They shouldn’t forget either. And that’s why I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them how I was born during and in spite of bombings. How I’ve had to push through in the face of adversity. I wonder if they know what that is like… I hope they won’t have to. But I’m sure they will. They might already.

I wish I could read more. Listening to some recording read to you is just not the same. I’d love for the kids to read to me sometime. I won’t mind their flawed pronunciation and meandering pace, care-fu-lly con-struc-ting eve-ry sy-lla-ble. I’ll be patient. But if they aren’t, they could also show me how I can play the book from granddad’s sound system. God… He really outdid himself, installing speakers that hang from all the windows of the top floor so he could listen to the news from anywhere in the garden or inside the house. God, those speakers… They really were like sirens for everyone to hear. Oh, and how our neighbours kept complaining! You’re disrupting the peace! I don’t need to hear what’s happening everywhere else all the time! We know what’s happening here! Isn’t that enough?!

When they come, I should blast the news from the speakers, so they know, so they are aware that… so they beware… They won’t complain then.

Last night, I caught myself being relieved he was gone. And not for my sake but for his. I found myself turning off the news… I’m glad he doesn’t have to bother with it anymore. If he could see it all…

And the kids! What are they seeing all day! They must be… No, I won’t play the news when they arrive. Only music. Classical music. And I will ask them if Wagner makes them imagine cohorts upon cohorts marching towards the battlefield, and heavy bombs landing…

No, I won’t! I won’t play Wagner! They will only imagine that if I ask them. They shouldn’t be thinking about those things! I don’t want them to despair! When I tell them the story of how I was born, I don’t want them to despair! I lived! I lived! I lived!

Maybe, I should calm down. I should know it isn’t like old times, we’re good now. And when they come, it can be just like old times. It should. It still could. It ought to. I just hope that, when I’m gone, it won’t be like old times.

But for now, I’ll sit tight and wait at the door till they come. For they are coming.

© 2025 Emil Krastev