What do I do with that kiss? Where do I go with it? I’ll forget it ever happened. I’ll lose it on purpose and it’ll get lost. I went to Wissal, sought refuge in her as she, her mother and little brother had on that day long ago sought refuge in us. I hid behind her. I concentrated on her voice. It sounded strong and painstakingly close. Who says telephones allow us to connect? They don’t. They only affirm the distance by forcing you to come face to face with what you know, like the edge of a knife on your skin feels for the nerve, rips apart your warm skin and strikes. Her voice came to me close and clear and I was on the other side. We were like two women separated by glass, the barrier separating a prisoner from his visitor. More precisely: glass separating a prisoner from a prisoner. Even so, I’ll get ready. I’ll talk to her like she talked to me. I’ll swallow the lump in my throat, suppress the chill and the well of tears. Tomorrow.