Sarajevo, March 1995
Danijel invites me to dance. Nena invites me to hug him.
"But I can"t dance!" I tell him. He reaches out his arms toward me and guides me. My body begins to vibrate like the strings of a cello. He invites me to dance, invites me to stand next to him.
"Come on. Just see how the music box dancers do it!"
Danijel"s hands wrap around my hips. We laugh, fall happy after the waltz.
"Just think, Carì, there will never be a spring like this again." "Why?"
"Because there will be others! But not like this one!" "And how is this?"
"Bella! I met you!"
I tried to forget some of them, in return I remember the autumn and winter left behind. Danijel was in charge of collecting wood, he had collected it on Gorica to warm us up. We had also used two seahorses. He had corns on hi
