“But it wasn't just the distance. It was what had happened to me since these days, those endless, quiet days when I thought my life would always continue in that way. When my life consisted of small, certain pieces of a larger, but basically simple, puzzle.When I was certain that I always knew where each piece fit.”

“And now the thought came to me that I lived much of my life through the pages of books as well. That perhaps I, too, was only a paper figure. A cut-out, or silhouette. Flat.I always thought I knew the shape of my life. Of course I thought I knew about life, thought I knew all I needed - or wanted - to know. And yet, like the opening left when a burning star falls from its perch, now an unexpected hole was left in what was once a solid curtain of understanding... ( )... Sitting under the cold stars, I understood that it was death that made me recognize life, and the existence, or pherhaps the non-existence of my own beeing.”

“I had never wanted attention, and now I waspurposely inviting it. As I had told Dr Duverger, I had little vanity, and yet one recentmorning I realized that I was avoiding looking at my own reflection, because it wasdisturbing. Did I wish to go through life like this? Yes, the scar was a horrible mementoof what I had done to my father, but now I questioned whether I needed it to be soobvious. The actual weight was within me. I carried it as though it were a heavyearthenware pot of water. I had to walk through my days carefully, so as not to let it spillover. It was my own personal burden, not necessary to be shared with all who looked atme.”

“I knew my box of paints, stored away on the bedroom shelf of my small house across the ocean, could never create such colors.”

“I could never be sure whether he would be there when I arrived. On my way through the forest I used to pass a large granite block where I would stop, draw my breath and close my fists with my thumbs inside, then close my eyes and whisper: 'Please, please, please let him be there today,' before continuing. If he wasn't, I felt it was because I had done wrong. That somehow I had to earn the right to such pleasure.”

“My life now consists of fragments where some are so blinding in their intensity that they make everything else indistinguishable. What shall I do with these glittering shards? There is no pattern; I can't make them fit. With each other, or with the whole that should be my life. It feels as if my existence was extinguished in a flash, and afterwards my universe became incomprehensible. Just shards and particles, which I carry with me wherever I go. They are sharp and they still hurt to touch. And they are so heavy. I know there is more - there are less intense fragments that I need to make it whole. I want to remember everything. But perhaps I need to give it more time. Allow myself some rest. Distance myself a little, to see if I can make out a pattern. And face the truth about what is really there.”

“I did not realize what a gift I had been given until it was too late, forever too late. Must life always be that way?”