A famous phrase, Mark Twain, went just like that and, Stan, could easily understand it if that rule would also apply to people. Why yes, for the man her beloved Mae was like a soap bubble: beautiful, elegant, fragile in her existence but powerful in climbing ever higher to reach immensity.
Twain also wondered how much it might cost if there was only one. Stan could answer that it would be priceless because, as it is unique and inimitable, the more its value would be incalculable. A chameleon-like soap bubble that dressed in a thousand colors and in countless colors its soul was… Priceless, extraordinary, wonderful, its Mae who, incomparable, knew how to make him a child again to transform him and make him grow into a man in the blink of an eye. eyelash.
In this week dedicated to love, he too, like Marcus and Clay, would live on memories that his memory lovingly cradles but which devour and torment the soul with unprecedented ferocity.
In a now locked toilet, inaccessible to anyone except him and his daughter, Stan keeps the image of theirs in a cloud of soap bubbles sprung from the soap that his wife loved so much. Laughter, thoughts, future projects, his white fur with those cherry hairs, his eyes that shone like the most precious of diamonds still echo within the walls.
