It all happened too quickly, didn’t it, when you shook hands with your father and walked down the concrete path between the thistles to your new room – in those moments when I was meant to emerge from within you, with you. But I couldn’t do the work of a whole childhood in a few moments. I turned up too late and too suddenly. Sometimes all it takes for everything to go wrong is a single moment. A strange command made us face each other.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
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