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17.03.2026, 13:45
It is snowing now. Not snow, really, just gray ash falling from a gray sky. Padma sits on the cold ground and catches these flakes on her tongue. Alexey sits beside her and holds her hand. I imagine his hand is very warm. And in that moment, I realized. In all of my grandfather’s Triptych, in all its labyrinths of meaning, in all its complex structures and beautiful metaphors, there is not a single word about the warmth of a human hand. He described the world so painstakingly that he forgot to feel it
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