I visit my daughter and her family.
I sit on a couch that I don’t have to clean, close to children I don’t have to dress, and I open a book of their choice — short or long, no matter.
I don’t think about the laundry that needs to get done. I don’t think about the appointments that need to be kept. And I don’t think about the dishes in the sink that need to be washed.
I am Buba.
I just see children’s faces, wanting to read a book. There’s nowhere else to go.
I hold the book in my hands. I feel the warmth of the children next to me. They’re snuggled into my sides.
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