My Life Was Across The Ocean, So I Swam

more stories from Greece

Somewhere on the other side of familiarity, I was sitting on a blue sofa writing a ghost story.

It went like this: a girl in a grey wool sweater returned to a place that doesn’t exist. The place was about memory, or it was a memory, or it was saying something about memory. She was unsure which one. She went to a cafe down the road from her new apartment…