Dintre toate lucrurile, de felul in care ma faceai sa ma simt imi e cel mai dor.
Mi-e dor de interminabilele discutii dintre noi, chiar si de cele in contradictoriu, care nu te deranjau, pentru ca asa "ajungeai sa ma cunosti mai bine".
Mi-e dor de siguranta pe care o aveam cand imi promiteai ca vom fi impreuna si ca nu vom renunta unul la celalalt, de cum spuneai ca atunci cand tii la cineva atat de mult, nu lasi asta sa treaca pe langa tine.
Mi-e dor de momentul ala in care ai spus ca nu te asteptai sa simti intr-un timp atat de scurt ceea ce simteai pentru mine, dar ca iti parea bine ca s-a intamplat asa. Si voiai mereu sa te asigur ca si eu simteam la fel, ca imi doream la fel de mult sa fim impreuna, ca indiferent de ce avea sa se intample, eu as fi fost langa tine.
[....] Am fi fost impreuna si ne-ar fi fost bine, exact cum spuneai ca urma sa se intample.
Patul meu inca ar fi mirosit a tine si-a visine.
E una din zilele alea in care imi lipsesc multe. E iar una din zilele alea.
"His heart busied itself, stubbornly, in the belief that the beautiful woman he dreamed of belonged to him alone, because the others bought her and used her, but he would adore he forever. He committed the error of letting his guard down and allowing the delirium of that woman's name to lodge in his bloodstream in the form of jealousy, which is as obstinate as malaria itself, and from then on he began to carry within him the two plagues, which embraced him like twin rivers of fever and fire, distinct yet fluent.
That was the serious problem, that he was jealous of Sayonara even before he loved her.
[...]
"Maybe they grieved for many women, each man for his own", acknowledges Sacramento today, "but to me it was as if they only spoke of her. No other name entered my ears, only Sayonara, Sayonara, falling like snow onto the high treetops in the midst of the suffocating heat, and I couldn't believe that there was any greater passion than the one that emanated from her."
