But this is not, in fact, the real end: quite the contrary. We are faced with an abundance of completely new images; we are filled with the halftones of unwritten music. We give ourselves, with an unclear smile, to the dying touch of a flood of associations. We harken to time.
For the paths of escape are many and they are poorly explored.
Like that sentence of Lucia's, uttered between rows of linden trees, before which all constraints, all zones of hampered movement vanished and unexplored realms beckoned, undulating worlds, dimension of dimensions.
'I feel claustrophobia on Earth,' said Lucia.
And we lay on our backs. In the grass. To look at the stars.
David Albahari -- Words are something else