She was gone, and the coldness of it was her final gift. She died somewhere in the dark... there is no other tale to tell.


The Road

won't we?

If you love me and I’m weak, then weaker you must love me more,
(...)
And in the morning we’ll wrestle and ruin our stomachs with coffee,
Won’t we be, won’t we be, won’t be so happy?

(*)

Bonnie 'Prince' Billy