Lead by a sudden impulse, I hop on my bike and set off for wherever the road takes me. I have no destination, but I do have a goal: to find Zoli, wherever he is. I ride in the snow for hours, lights come towards me, and people shake their fists at me, but nothing interests me, I just pedal steadily ahead. I rove over the familiar places, the parks, the groves; I ramble all the places where I have been with Zoli, where Zoli took my hand, where Zoli tickled my tongue with his tongue, where I could lay my head on Zoli’s shoulder. And I know that I am right, and not my husband. Zoli certainly does exist, and it’s not just me imagining him for myself. And I remember how much emotion, how much beauty, how much care, how much kindness he brought into my life. I cut across hedge and ditch, and I am sure that I’ll find him somewhere. Then, everything goes black, and when I come round again, I have bruises all over my arms and legs, I ache all over, there are thorns and leaves in my hair, I don’t remember anything. But I do know that the bite on my thigh comes from him. The snowflakes cover my body slowly, and slowly everything becomes white around me.
...
I think I have a minute left to write. What can I write in this time that I haven’t already written? Maybe just that I love you. Although I have written it many times recently, even though I’m not used to writing it down, nor to saying it, but you should know that whenever I write it, always and again I feel only that I really love you a lot, and I have never, and perhaps I will never, love anyone like this. And it ends here. It’s starting to get very cold.
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