On ne mesure le vide du temps passé que le jour où l’on existe véritablement. La vie, non les jours qui passent, se résume parfois à un instant, une journée, une semaine ou un mois. On sait qu’on vit parce qu’on souffre, parce que soudain tout compte et parce que ce moment se terminant, le reste de l’existence devient un souvenir qu’on essaie vainement de revivre jusqu’au dernier souffle.
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