I say to this stone: I am you. The stone says: You are not that flexible. I say: My heart is like
yours? It says: you did not know me except from the outside. I say: does this mean that you
feel? It says: of course, and sometimes I shed a tear. But I regain my composure; this is my
set nature. I say to it: do you have a memory? It says: why not. I have my own biography as
well, but it is not always amenable to reading. Record: I was in a sling, then I became a
block. I once took part in the construction of a bridge, and once confronted sea waves as they
flowed excessively. Here I am, now, as you see, an arch in a derelict house. I say to the stone:
so you will not disappear then? It says: never. You people come and go. Some of you leave
the mark of a tender hand on my surface. Others leave a shot and I know the difference
between this and that

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