Do not allow me to forget you

She was lost in her longing to understand.

The world was reduced to the surface of her skin and her inner self was safe from all bitterness.

Each man is master of his own death, and all that we can do when the time comes is to help him die without fear of pain.

She felt the abyss of disenchantment.

She wanted to be herself again, to recover all that she had been obliged to give up in half a century of servitude that had doubtless made her happy but which, once her husband was dead, did not leave her even the vestiges of her identity.

he dared to explore her withered neck w/his fingertips…her hips w/their decaying bones, her thighs with their aging veins.