Only one half of Jean-François Sarasin’s identity ended up in death. I cannot say it was the less important side of his personality. What would remain of the poet Sarasin without the charmer Jean-François?

I shall try to reconstruct him as a whole, to sort out the jigsaw puzzle according to my image until the little pieces slip into their appropriate slots and reconstruct Jean-François Sarasin, the poet and the man. My friend. My alibi. The meaning of my life.

Leaning on his arm, I enter Literature and plunge headlong into the artefact. The velvety salons with their hushed-up sounds soothe my nerves. I cuddle up in their never-ending smoothness waiting for my poet to come by.