(…) Little squares like kisses float in front of me. Fluffy images where, diffused, the sweet fog of our first light is whispering. The time we discovered a standing door, a seated rock and our dissolved selves, curled like a heart around our first story. When this would be the first approach, the one that already knows. (…) We thought we were looking at pictures and it is the author looking at us, pieces of a mischievous or timid face watching our authenticity with the eagerness of a child.