On the night of Carnival she died,
a splendid summer's night, in the centre of a noisy Sidney, at only twenty her life ended. The taxi driver screamed something, but I couldn't understand his words.
The violent sound of her body flung against the taxi.
The deafening noise of her impact with the earth, after her body was tossed in the air like petals in the wind.
These impressions will stay with me forever.
When i finally reached her, from her crushed skull her blood gushed colouring the ground. Until the I never realised blood could be so black. That Black reflected the brilliance of Sidney at night.
Often she told me, that her blood was half German, half Italian. Her grandfather, who raised her, spoke often of three places: Germany, Italy and Japan.
So on the occasion of his exhibition in Germany, my thoughts have returned, I don't know, why to that night in Australia.
I, who was born in Japan, have worked with glass in Italy, and have exhibited my works in Germany. This is my only explanation.
When I saw her, lifeless, transported by ambulance, I was overcome completely by fear, a fear that crushed me from head to foot.
The morning after, when I found out she had died instantly, for the first time I realised I love her. From that moment I loved her infinitely. This was the first and only time I saw someone die in front of my eyes.
Who knows if she was still alive when her bady was tossed and floated in the air.
Am I crazy to think such a thing?