In September, he moved into the south-facing rental house.
Three days later another one arrived. Two boxes and a backpack, standing in the middle of the living room and saying "it's okay".
What happened next was as normal as the beginning of all stories: eating hot pot together, going to the supermarket together, he tiptoed in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil, and he fell asleep reading a book on the sofa. The sunlight slanted in from the window, fell on the floor, and slowly moved from one end to the other.
He thought there would be many more afternoons like this.
But some people are not gone, they are taken away. It's not that I don't want to say some things, but it's useless even if I say them.
It was many years later that he learned that the man's last call on the night he disappeared was - Ich komme zurück.
I will be back.
What are you doing back? Come back and steal his cat, come back and wait for him to get drunk, come back and hide all the scars behind the words "It's okay", come back and ask him: "Can you find a place to sit for a while?"
It took him four years to learn to say "I will come back", and it took him four years to come to him.
Intention: People can be destroyed by "not talking", and they can also be saved by "not talking".