"Today is the thirty-sixth anniversary of my mother's death...

time comes from the future, passes

behind, collapses over her, covers her, makes her more and more non-existent, for the dead die
too, always. When I'm gone too, she'll be gone from the universe completely. Too young, when
she died, to remember her, I created my image of her later, as a child, from a bad, faded
photograph, which I resurrected and colored with everything I heard from others and with my
own fantasy: a quiet, tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl. Reminiscent of an arbitrary image of
yesteryear, this and that is my mother. In the course of my life, the image remained the same, but
varied with the point of view to which the years moved me. As a child, the brown-haired girl was
my mother, in my twenties, my sister. Today I feel she is my daughter. But these sui-generis
feelings, these affective hypotheses, without the substratum of any experimental reality in family
life, were love longings for a beautiful girl, long dead. Like storms, which only stir the face of
the ocean, the passions of youth have come and gone, but in the ultimate depths of the soul the
love for the image of the dead girl has remained intact, unmixed, of a unique essence, and on
clear nights, in early youth and sometimes even today, when I feel lonely, wronged, unhappy, it
seems to me that she is watching me with care and tenderness, leaning over an ideal railing in
interplanetary spaces."

-Gheorghiță Daniel

-clasa X ,,C”;Municipiul Chișinău;gheorghita.daniel@prometeu.md

-Munteanu Svetlana;munteanu.svetlana.c@prometeu.md