Tomorrow, that door in the centre of your brain (the one you like to joke is turning to glue) will open all the way. But it’s been opening anyway, first at night, in dreams, and most recently during the day when, sitting with you on the porch I can see you cross its threshold.

When you walk through the door you will be on the other side of the moon; through the door there is the sound of singing, maybe amongst the voices your mother who pauses midsong to say she’s sorry, and god how we fuck up the simplest of things. Maybe Bojana is there, pipe in mouth, sitting on the front step with its orange light winking at the stars as she inhales. The women are singing ‘da sam ptica, i da imam krila’ and their voices are birds soaring over the chaos of the violin, they sing it with mouths wide open to let all the sound come from the bottoms of their feet like I do when I am driving to see you, or sometimes when I am crying a bit on the way home.

Who am I to tell you come back from such wonders? We both know I’m not, have never been enough, and you know I don’t say this self pityingly or with any sort of blame; we both know this is how it’s been. But what bird will fly from me to where you are on the moon should you stay? What bird can make the journey back to tell me your stories? Not even a starling is brave enough. On the other side of the moon you will be every age you have ever been; a girl bringing up barrels of beer in your auntie’s semi legal gostionica, standing on the deck of the Saxonia and listening to people rolling stones around on their tongues (which you later discover is English, you never have to do it yourself again), a new bride, finally free of your family. You can hold my children in your arms for the first time again any time you like. Maybe that stupid communist youth recruiter is there, and maybe this time instead of telling him maybe later, you don’t feel worthy enough to join the Party just yet, you say fuck it and join, and we get to see what happens next.

Who am I to call you back from this? We know what happens next, on this side.