Who has never dreamed of something unnameable? Something that cannot be expressed in words, that makes you sigh clandestinely ... it was shortly before the harvest, a summer when I was 15 years old. Tiringly, riding our bicycles, we pedaling on the paths. Following it I admired his long hair with their blond curls who danced to the hollow of the back. Exhausted we left the bikes and I took it by the hand, sliding between the wheat fields. Designed on the warm grainy earth with my head resting on my shoulder, I contemplated his closed eyelids, and from his fleshy mouth he suddenly came out a clandestine sigh ...