After what happened, I cannot continue to talk in exactly the same way as I did before everything happened. I can’t and I won’t. I would rather mark the differences, testifying to the fact that things are important. That sometimes we even end up not knowing what to do with our voice.
Between what I am now writing and what will come to be read, so many days will pass. When we get there (you, me, the dead man, the female saint, the ghosts, the friend and her mother), we shall all be so different that perhaps this small text is, therefore, a lie. I cannot promise that the opposite will be the case. All that I know is that I have listened to a lot of music, because it consoles me.