Isa Urzu

“I am very concerned
when I imagine how strangled and cut off you currently live, afraid of
touching anything that is filled with memories (and what is not filled with
memories?). You will freeze in place if you remain this way. You must not,
dear. You have to move. You have to return to his things. You have to touch
with your hands his things, which through their manifold relations and
affinity are after all also yours. You must, Sidie (this is the task that this
incomprehensible fate imposes upon you), you must continue his life inside
of yours insofar as it was unfinished; his life has now passed onto yours.
You, who quite truly knew him, can quite truly continue in his spirit and on
his path. Make it the task of your mourning to explore what he had expected
of you, had hoped for you, had wished to happen to you. If I could just
convince you, my dear friend, that his influence has not vanished from your
existence”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Dark Interval: Letters on Loss, Grief, and Transformation

“Oh, Nastenka! You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, that I will remember you for all my life!”
― Dostoevskiy, Белые ночи

“—Nunca nos quisimos —le dijo besándola en el pelo. —No hablés por mí —dijo la Maga cerrando los ojos—. Vos no podés saber si yo te quiero o no. Ni siquiera eso podés saber. —¿ Tan ciego me creés?”
― Julio Cortázar, Hopscotch

“Oh mi amor, te extraño, me dolés en la piel, en la garganta, cada vez que respiro es como si el vacío me entrara en el pecho donde ya no estás”
― Julio Cortázar, Hopscotch