Betrayals in war are childlike compared with our betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything, for the heart is an organ of fire… We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have entered and swum up like rivers, fears we have hidden in… I want this all marked on my body. We are the real countries, not the boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men. I know you will come and carry me out into the palace of winds. That’s all I’ve wanted — to walk in such a place with you, with friends, on earth without maps.