But I am not allowed to forgetThe taste of the tears of yesterday.

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed... here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again Unless ... Summer's ardent rustling Is like a festival outside my window.

The word landed with a stony thud Onto my still-beating breast. Nevermind, I was prepared, I will manage with the rest. I have a lot of work to do today; I need to slaughter memory, Turn my living soul to stone Then teach myself to live again. . . But how. The hot summer rustles Like a carnival outside my window; I have long had this premonition Of a bright day and a deserted house.