to A., because there are people like that.
We remembered the good times we spent together on the terrace in the summer. We liked the scent of the Orient. That orientation that seemed so far away, we felt so close. Nearby, two minds as they are preparing to take similar conversation. Nearby, as the white snowflakes that melted in her cheeks, in winter, when there was nothing to hope, by which time the sun had gone down without telling us where he had gone, when we were cold and we were not together to rally : its in my body, my heart in her, our thoughts together that vibrated through clouds scoplite nell'alabastro. The sun was not there but I could see the light in her eyes - I had not seen that yet, but I knew that there were - in the flakes of snow that shone on his face and took the curious form of tears, he darkened with her smile. Was this love? No, this was not love, but it had a name longer lasting, less arrogant, less scary and somewhat larger, so large as to touch the immensity. I know the hope, and it was only thanks to him.
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