Like you, I know what it is to forget. Like you, I have a memory. I know what it is to forget. . . . Like you, I too have tried with all my might not to forget. Like you, I forgot. Like you, I wanted to have an inconsolable memory, a memory of shadows and stone. For my part, I struggled with all my might, every day, against the horror of no longer understanding at all the reason for remembering. Like you, I forgot.
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I remember. I see the ink. I see the daylight. I see my life. Your death. My life that goes on. Your death that goes on.
Marguerite Duras
I have hidden my heart behind ancient walls








