Posted in Uncategorized

Sentimental

I keep behind a picture of my dad a piece of paper with the last words he wrote. His shaking hands didn’t obey him, and he just was trying to check if he was able to continue writing or not. He was using my pen and the last word understandable was my name: Olga. it’s my secret treasure.

Author:

Journalist. In my fifties. I've worked for 26 years in a newspaper in Spain. I worked for two years as a stringer and correspondent in the US, and went as a special envoy to other places like the Balkans. Sea lover. Avid reader. Classic Music enthusiast.

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