“How could I forget you, my love? For you are in my waiting, against which I sleep, but I cannot explain it to you. You remember, I loved the soil so much, and I would dig up the flowers, just to be able to plant them again; you remember, I often said: 'If I were a little bird, you would put me in your pocket when you go? O my love, I am here in the good soil like a black seed, and I am waiting to be a little bird.”