Where real passions rage, there’s no room for petty little feelings. It’s almost impossible to resist true love when fate brings you someone one and only. And for real happiness, you can even pass through painful suffering.
“Funny,” Beatrice’s voice rang out; it seemed to come from somewhere above, high over him—over their bed—“that you didn’t forget me in these five years…”
He didn’t answer. He listened to her heart beating, to how often she breathed, caught up in passion; he felt the sweat on her forehead—those familiar sensations, lost so long ago. There was nothing he could say to her, except that yes, it really had been five years since she left him, and all this time he had been walking beside her without feeling his own body or his own heart—wandering like a tramp, aware of his defeat and at the same time not realizing it. And only now, forgetting himself on her shoulder, did he feel as if he had found his only homeland again.