He opened his mouth، talking of words which I had not felt the necessity to picture، for there was a strong presence in them. And he was playing music to me ،a music which for years، has reminded me of the wars taken plece at a time when even the grandfather of the story had not existed. There was a strange pain and fear within him. Such a strange silence and such a pleasant smell…such a foggy field. What am I talking of? Of what end of war? Still ،I kiss and kiss his burnt photos. I liik at the watch، 2.30 am. I attach the next photo…