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The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love.
The man who has no memory makes one out of paper.
Once he had told her something that she could not imagine: that amputees suffer pains, cramps, itches, in the leg that is no longer there. That is how she felt without him, feeling his presence where he no longer was.
He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.
It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.