#sofia-silva

the last time he saw her she was eighteen, that is the only thought that enters diego’s mind as lola is speaking. his tired eyes are fixed in place, taking in all the reminders of their mother. the memories of him urging her to continue to college and not let his dumb witted decisions hold her or sofia back. ‘you look like her sometimes.’ diego interrupts and doesn’t apologise for it, considering he made a habit of reminding lola about the mother she never had the chance to meet properly. ‘the way you say certain words, she did the same faces.’ he carries the observation with a seriousness and then smiles to deplete any heaviness. ‘sofia got the mixture of mom and dad, i just got dad’s mannerisms. you got mom’s. funny, right?’

‘not much has changed.’ diego addresses whomever it is that enters the kitchen, his almost decade long vacation has rendered his ears useless to decipher the footsteps of his family. for a fraction of a second, whoever lingers in the doorway has a sense of their mother but then their father too. diego turns in the seat, nodding to sofia and then gesturing to the newspaper in his hand. ‘barely kept up with shit, so this is like reading a hieroglyphic.’ a sigh is exhaled through his nose, wispy and light. for the week of his return, diego has barely ventured from the bedroom and he has made an obvious silent protest to wandering into the city. ranch life was going to be his new solitude, swapping bars for picket fences and horses manure. 'windy hills still being pieces of shit, that’s not surprising.’