Ştefana had been one of my body’s interior organs. I felt her there, even when I wasn’t thinking about her. We lived together, wrapped in the same atmosphere, the same painting, the same myth, like Theseus and the Minotaur, Leda and the swan, Haman and Esther. Her figure overlapped with mine, like two wet watercolor brushes that made trees bloom in each other’s colors.
