Without his having revealed that he was weeping from love, she recognized immediately the oldest sobs in the history of man.
The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.
From being used so much, kneaded with sweat and sighs, the air in the room had begun to turn to mud.
Death really did not matter to him but life did, and therefore the sensation he felt when they gave their decision was not a feeling of fear but of nostalgia.
Those secret tastes, defeated in the past by oranges and rhubarb, broke out into an irrepressible urge when she began to weep. She went back to eating earth.
In the beginning, when the world was new and nothing had a name, my father took me to see the ice.
Thus they went on living in a reality that was slipping away but which would escape irremediably when they forgot the values of the written letters.
He dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her.
In that way the long-awaited visit, for which both had prepared questions and had even anticipated answers, was once more the usual everyday conversation.
An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.