Even if you left, you wouldn’t disappear, the sun is no further than the mandarin left on the table, and the pen entangled with your name doesn’t move on its stand. I’ve become a child again, I’ve dropped my blindness like a scarf from a window and seen that it won’t fall, that the universe doesn’t expand that there’s no distance between the stars that the living are no closer than the dead, that the globe is not round and that everything exists at one point: where carbon turns into diamond, suffering into word. Tomi Kontio, translated by Sarka Hantula.