Zhuli, he thought. I’m sorry that I came too late. Of course he knew that she had forgiven him long ago, so why did he hold on to this guilt? What was the thing he was most afraid of?

Better guilt than nothing at all, better guilt than forgetfulness: perhaps what one should fear most of all is not death itself or departure, but the dying away of memories, the disappearance of what we once felt most intensely. Because what we feel most strongly gives rise to the most vivid impressions, the strongest colours, and without them, we have nothing to call our own, we have little with which to recognise ourselves.

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