Like concentric waves in the waters when a stone is thrown, we descend slowly through memory. Those waters were very cold, a hand was guiding me and when the water came almost to my neck, I started swimming. You floats worse in a lake than in the sea; but what I would give to immerse myself again in those so cold waters of childhood during those summers that seemed endless. When everything was true, as true as that damp cold when I opened my eyes while I dived and the slippery fishes slipped out of my hands.
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