"I thought of how the movies depicted death. Very often it was a very wide red slash against a vastness of slow, soft snow. In his dream, the aggrieved survivor leans over the dead, mangled body of the beloved one. He presses a kiss to the cold, blue-ish lips. The beloved's eyes already frosted with a deathly film. A poetic picture, indeed.
I thought I knew death too intimately by now to indulge in such fantasies. Death was not like the opera. You kissed a dead person, and yourlips touched cold, unfeeling marble. A morbid, helpless sensation. You kissed and you kissed and they never came alive. He never came alive, not even in my dreams."