Hey Ma

Somewhere between the kitchen window overlooking the damp roofs and the call that you don’t immediately decide to answer, there is a song - almost a letter. With that “hey, ma” that makes a lump in my throat.

It contains everything at once: longing for a home with a shabby fence, pride in oneself “over there, across the sea,” and such a simple, but not at all simple request - to just be on the other end. To check on Mick and remind him that even the biggest city cannot outshine the one who was there when no one knew that you could fly.

The song is like a voice that you listen to a hundred times. Not because you forget, but because you want to stay close a little longer. Even if only in words.