we visit with an old friend, HOM and i. we are different in culture background pursuits priorities and religion. we live in different places far apart and we have different problems in life. we all three of us love hand knotted rugs. somehow, HOM keeps his number through years and cellphone changes and smartphone upgrades. he recognizes HOM's voice on the first greeting.
my son is big now, he tells us proudly. he's in university. my daughter weighs on my heart, he says too. we barely understand this friendship, but we are humbled by it.
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