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380 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2012
I am leaving, but this city will remain, with its people and its sounds and its rhythms, and the fact that it will be left without me once again makes no real difference to it. The faces of passersby, which just a couple of days earlier belonged to people with whom you shared that large space, now seem to retreat behind a border. That space is still theirs, but it's like you no longer exist in it anymore.
Longing is incapable of accepting the empty space, which the world's onward grind should refill as time passes. Rather, it screams out against any kind of touch - wordless, thoughtless, pointless, simply in unadulterated pain. Longing lies near in graveyards, but it is covered by a rug of silence. The scream isn't gone, but it has flowed out from the heart - beneath the green pines, between the sandy paths.