11

It was all unknown to me then, as I sat on that bench on the day I went home.

Everything except the fact that I didn't have to know.

That is was enough to trust that what I'd felt was true.

To understand its meaning without yet being able to say precisely what it was, like all those words from your tongue, those picture of you, that had run through my nights and days.

To believe that I didn't need to reach with my vile hands anymore.

To know that seeing your back was enough.

That it was everything.

So very close, so very present, so very belonging to me.