Mattia was right: the days had slipped over her skin like a solvent, one after the other, each removing a very thin layer of pigment from her tattoo, and from both of their memories. The outlines, like the circumstances, were still there, black and well delineated, but the colors had merged together until they faded into a dull, uniform tonality, a neutral absence of meaning.

Even though he was afraid to admit it, when he was with her it seemed it was worth doing all those normal things that normal people do.

With a little effort, she could get up by herself

Twin primes: pairs of prime numbers that are close to each other, almost neighbors, but between them there is always an even number that prevents them from truly touching. If you go on counting, you discover that these pairs gradually become rarer, lost in that silent, measured space made only of ciphers. You develop a distressing presentiment that the pairs encountered up until that point were accidental, that solitude is the true destiny. Then, just when you’re about to surrender, you come across another pair of twins, clutching each other tightly.

His scars were hidden and safe in her hand.

[Their love] had burned itself out, like a forgotten candle in an empty room, leaving behind a ravenous discontent.

In the end it happens, in some way you couldn't imagine before.