Re: They divorced later

The very long bus rides in that country can be unfathomably sad, unfathomably happy, memorable for ever - thousands of kilometres at best (I still remember a 3-year-old "por quê?" girl, my little amiga). Later I traveled southwards with the mother and daughter, I paid for the journey, sometimes the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere, people came out to piss and stretch their feet, and the stars were as big as lotus flowers. Were there even crickets? I don't remember.

I spent some time in their original state with them, then returned to the biggest city, then to another country, all time remembering this beauty, and then bought a ticket to the opposite side of the globe from Paraguay. I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.

Have I mentioned her before - a beautiful prose poem at Danpedo, originally written in that distant country? Did I mention her in a very terse message a few weeks ago? In other words, did I mention her too?

Re: They divorced later - correction