Haruka sits with her back to the wall in the golden light of a lamp that gives her skin a dazzling glow. I seek her gaze to better understand what she said to me. I scrutinize with insatiable joy this jewel of flesh and bone that speaks without moving, one arm resting on her bare knee. I don’t listen to him anymore. I am silent. I look at the motionless hand, very beautiful, which shines next to the knee. Face, knee and hand that go their way under my eyelids. Visible haunting that will linger in my gaze wherever I go. This is how, in me, the beginning of love is first of all an image.