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Summary
As he held out his arm to watch the rain slide on his skin, Azul walked the path that led to the source of the sound that had woken him, occasionally gazing up at the transparency of the moon amongst the clouds. He made his way over a fallen log, brushing his fingertips over the soft, sturdy, velvety petals of the hydrangeas.
He had no memory of how he got there. Like that pond, his mind was wrapped in a thick fog that didn't allow him to focus on anything and that occluded every possible answer to his questions. It was as if there was a door in his mind which he absolutely couldn't open if he wanted to avoid sinking into memories that should have been forgotten.