I waited at the door. It was not easy for her to reason out why I came. But it did not matter. She greeted me as if she knew how much I had been through to make it here. It was a greeting for me, for me alone. I could not see anyone else in her eyes. We then sat down at the fire. She held my hands. Her warmth was no less than the fire. I felt right away that there was an unbreakable bound between us. No, it was more than that. It was a thread of the dead and the living. I could not have expected more. Her quietness and shyness resonated with the vast calmness at this summer night. My solitude was no longer meaningful.

I have the urge for learning the nature of this thread between us. It would be blunt that I try to excogitate a way to measure something immeasurable. I could only point out a feeling akin to a burglary. Something was stolen from me, but at the same time, I had stolen something I needed as well. Let’s not anticipate the police authority. This pre-stage of taking or giving without knowing has a romantic essence. At this phase, one gives everything he can and displays his faculty before discovering how it would be in vain to offer or expect. As times goes by, who can really sit next to him without questions, in full silence, is who knows how to accept and understand him the most.

**Artwork by Jan Florence Garven