I stared at her faceless visage, that absence of features memory didn't dare define, as if clarity itself would betray something too ancient, too sacred. And yet, within that mist, in those barely sketched, blurred lines, I glimpsed… something.
Not a memory. Not a name. Nothing anchored, nothing clear. But a feeling. From elsewhere. From beyond memory. A form of love. Not the kind one speaks of. Not the kind one shows. A silent love, steady, ancient — like a star one never looks at, but whose light still reaches us, night after night.
And that light… had always brushed me without my knowing where it came from.
I walked past her without a word. Not out of indifference. But because silence, in that moment, said everything no language could contain. There was nothing to add. Nothing to explain. I simply let my body do what my heart had finally accepted.
And I began to climb.
