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Between my love and me three hundred nights
Like three hundred walls will have to be raised
And the sea shall be like magic between us.

Nothing will remain except memories.
O afternoons brought in with suffering,
The nights aspiring to see you,
The fields on my way, the firmament
That I am seeing and losing…
Certain as marble
Your absence shall sadden other afternoons.


Jorge Luis Borges, 1923

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