THERE IS A HOUSE, NOW BUILT ONLY FROM MEMORY and storytelling, its bricks long dissolved by the acid of apartheid’s paintbrush. I have never seen it. Yet I have magically walked its passages, my footfalls invisible on its wooden floors. The piano is there, bathing the afternoon in the timbre of its rosewood keys; French doors thrown open to send the crush of chords wafting
HOUSE OF MEMORY
Feb 18, 2022
2 minutes
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