But I do not.


"I wrote music today. Did you know that?" he says. "It was good. Better than anything I've ever done. It's going to be a concerto. In A minor. I wrote it because of the fireworks. Because they gave light. And hope. Because they were impossible."
"The Fireworks Concerto", I whisper, smiling.
"Why did you do this thing?" he says brokenly. His eyes are bright with tears. "Why did you give your life for nothing? The boy will die. You said so yourself. Now you will, too. And likely myself as well. If the guards get hold of me, I am a dead man. And for what? What did you change? The light you made is snuffed out. Hope is trampled upon. This wretched world goes on, as stupid and brutal tomorrow as it was today."
I know those words. Orléans said them to Alex and she wrote them down. In her last entry. With her last breath.
I'm tired. So tired. And weak. And everything's fading. But suddenly I'm laughing. I can't help it. Because I understand now. I know what Alex wanted to tell me. I know the answer. I know how her diary ends. Not with a smear of blood, not with death.
"Oh, dead man, you're dead wrong", I tell him. "The world goes on stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not."

Revolution, Jennifer Donnelly.

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El baúl de la habitación de al lado


>> Muchas veces las palabras que tendríamos que haber dicho no se nos presentan en el espíritu hasta que ya es demasiado tarde.
André Gide.

>> La palabra que retienes dentro de ti es tu esclava; la que se te escapa es tu señora.
Proverbio persa.