Paula

times of war planes were reserved for military purposes. She arrived just in time for my birth. As her own children had been born at home with the aid of her

If you can take it

With each love, we are born anew, and with each love that ends we collect a new wound. I am covered with proud scars

It does me good to write, even though at times I can barely force myself to it because each word sears like a burn

Silence before being born, silence after death: life is nothing but noise between two unfathomable silences

Is it because we loved each other too much? Did Paula and I squander all the happiness we had a right to? Were we swallowed up by life? My love for her is unconditional, but it seems she doesn’t need it anymore,” he said

pain is inevitable in this life, but they say that it is almost always bearable if we do not put up resistance or add fear and anguish

What is there on the other side of life? Only night silence and solitude? What remains when there are no more desires or memories or hope? What is there in death? If I could be still, without speaking or thinking, without begging, crying, remembering, hoping, if I could submerse myself in the most absolute silence, then perhaps I could hear you, my dearest daughter.

I had the feeling I was falling off a precipice, gaining speed with every second, until a final tumultuous conclusion during which even my bones burst open as an uncontrollable earth force pushed the baby from my body. I had experienced nothing like that when you were born, Paula, because yours was a straightforward

For that valiant old man, the deeper the wound, the more private the grief