What I see is extinguished, what disappears, is remembered. I stand at the end of the world and hear the soil sprouting. Waiting for the epiphyllum to bloom again, leaving its fragrance to the years. There is no lighthouse on the other side, but I still look around. When the sky gets dark, my hair turns white, and I hold my torch tightly. When he came, I said to myself, I am not afraid, I love him very much.