l should wake up from this dream.

And once again l feel
as if night were falling inside of me.

Fear... Fear of death.

Why not death?

The essential at times...

just being beautiful, and nothing more.

To look at oneself in the mirror
is to see oneself think.

So what do you think?

l think l still have the right to be afraid,
but not to talk about it.

You"re not yet blind,
the heart is still beating.

And now you"re crying after all.

You"d like to cry
like a very sad little girl.

Do you know why you"re crying?
For whom?

Not for me.
l don"t know for whom.

l"d like to know. l know nothing.

l"m a little bit afraid.
lt"s gone, gone away. lt"ll come back.

lt doesn"t matter.

Just to be able to say,
like right now, l"m happy.

l have a story,
and l'll go on having one.

There it is again,
this feeling of well-being...

as if inside my body
a hand was softly tightening.

When the child was a child,
it was the time of these questions:

Why am l me, and why not you?

Why am l here, and why not there?

When did time begin,
and where does space end?

lsn"t life under the sun just a dream?