The room is full of the incandescence you poured into me. The room will explode when I sit at the side of your bed and you talk to me. I don’t hear your words: your voice reverberated against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you to me. I could stuff my ears ad it would find its way into my blood and make it rise. 

Anais Nin

A forza di ripeterle, le parole poco a poco perdono il loro significato e il dolore che portano si attenua.