"You know when I said I knew little about love? That wasn't true. I know a lot about love. I've seen it, centuries and centuries of it, and it was the only thing that made watching your world bearable. All those wars. Pain, lies, hate... It made me want to turn away and never look down again. But when I see the way that mankind loves... You could search to the furthest reaches of the universe and never find anything more beautiful.
So yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and strangely easy to mistake for loathing, and - what I'm trying to say, is... I think I love you. Is this love, Tristan? I never imagined I'd know it for myself. My heart, it feels like my chest can barely contain it. Like it's trying to escape because it doesn't belong to me any more. It belongs to you. And if you wanted it, I'd wish for nothing in exchange - no gifts, no goods. No demonstrations of devotion. Nothing but knowing you loved me too. Just your heart, in exchange for mine."
Y de pronto, ya es prácticamente el fin de las vacaciones. Un cúmulo de reuniones familiares (propias o ajenas), alguna escapada a la fría y congestionada capital, comilonas, breves reencuentros, despedidas, fiestas sorpresa, e incluso algo de consumisme il·lustrat.