Her forehead, which she kissed, was cold like ice, shining like a soft candle, then a longing swept over her that made her kiss his entire face.

Her lips passed over his body like a lover whose soul yearns to be filled with love.

Everything in her felt his body, she thought about how many times his body had embraced the earth without truly melting into it — his body that had held the cells despite what hearts might think about a cell holding or not holding.

His body that had only shed tears of blood, and spoke only the language of patience and silence; the body of that man who lost his child’s water but still dreamed of having one… Her hands traced the path of her lips before passing over the cold white, her trembling hands afraid to scratch anything, her hands that would have been his dream if he were alive.

She kept speaking to his corpse as if he were awake, without crying, driven to speak not to cry, for there is a time for tears that has not yet come.