The poor plant... I was proud to have saved it. With simple care, its thin branches had flourished again. And then, without me abandoning her, she quickly lost her leaves, as if she was out of breath with so much effort, so much so that one day I abruptly cut her, almost out of pity.
I've been learning Portuguese for almost five months now. Interest in this language is not sudden. It dates from the early 2000s, that time of all new Internet contacts, during which I met the invigorating Vinicius who inspired me Les Années-rebours and which also gave Falaise its first inspiring impulses.
Since life is a perpetual restart, it is necessarily constant oxidation. What-it-is no longer becomes. Sometimes, this is gradually reduced, slowly jammed, oxidized, and then stopped. But sometimes, the breakage occurs, and it is already no longer, in a great crash of indifference since it is now elsewhere.