It is useless for me to go on remembering how things were before; if I remember them now, they are already different from the way they were then and when I try to grasp them again they will no longer be the same. Everything has already changed: my hands filled with vase and water and flowers are different from the hands that were once filled with something else; even if I remember them now, they will no longer be what they were. I would like to see again how things were before, but my eyes can no longer recognize anything; everything is stuck to other things and all I can see is this blossom, this glass of water, this perfume.