"For some time Bosmans thought some episodes of his youth, episodes with no response, net cut, faces without names, fleeting encounters. All that belonged to a distant past, but as these short sequences were unrelated to the rest of his life, they were pending, in an eternal present. It would not stop asking questions about it, and he never answers. These bits are always for him enigmatic. He had begun to compile a list, trying to find anyway benchmarks: a date, specific location, Spelling a name escaped him. He had bought a black moleskin notebook he carried in his inside pocket of his jacket, which allowed him to write notes at any time of day, each time one of his memories eclipsing crossed his mind. It felt to engage in a game of patience. But as he ascended the course of time, sometimes he felt regret: why had he followed this path rather than another? Why had he left such as face or silhouette, wearing a strange fur hat and holding a dog leash, getting lost in the unknown? Vertigo took him to thought what could be and was not.
These memory fragments corresponded to the years when your life is replete with intersections, and so many avenues open to you that you're spoiled for choice. The words he filled his book evoked for him the article about the "dark matter" that he had sent an astronomy magazine. Behind the specific events and familiar faces, he felt that everything had become a dark matter: brief encounters, missed appointments, lost letters, names and telephone numbers contained in an old diary and you have forgotten, and those and those you've crossed without even knowing it. As in astronomy, this dark matter is broader than the visible part of your life. It was endless. And he lists in his notebook a few small flicker in the depths of this darkness. If small, these sparkles, he closed his eyes and focused, looking for a detail suggestive him to recreate the whole, but there was no set, just fragments, dust stars. He wanted to plunge into this dark matter, reconnect one by one son, broken, yes, go back and keep the shadows and learn more about them. Impossible. Then it only remained to find the names. Or even the names. They acted as magnets. They were conjuring confused impressions that you had difficulty clarifying. They belonged to the dream or reality? "
Patrick Modiano, Horizon
Good evening under the stars:)
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