L’amour, si je parvenais à l’écrire, s’approcherait d’un point nodal : là gît le risque d’exhumer des cris, ceux d’hier comme ceux du siècle dernier. Mais je n’aspire qu’à une écriture de transhumance, tandis que, voyageuse, je replis mes outres d’un silence inépuisable.
Love, if I managed to write it down, would approach a critical point: there where lies the risk of exhuming buried cries, those of yesterday as well as those of a hundred years ago. But my sole ambition in writing is to travel constantly to fresh pastures and replenish my water skins with an inexhaustible silence.
