It is so far from here to Catalonia and people living there have such a completely different appearance.
Enric is in the lines which converge and in smooth fillets.
Cemeteries do not have such smoothness. The rows of graves march on the orders of the living – there is no smothness here, no rescue to come.
Enric liked being alone...
Fingers of a delicate man, hollow patterns.
*
Somewhere here, among the lengthy lines of the mountains, there is our cemetery. |
|
|