- I'm telling you I love him. I do.
- I know you do.
- I think I remember him telling me he loves me, too.
- You can't. He's mute.
- He's not. I've seen him talk to other people.
- You can't have. You're blind.
- I'm not.
- Yes, you are. Besides, you can't see someone talk. You can only hear them talking.
- I've heard him, then.
- Who was he talking to?
- I don't know. To people. To me.
- It wasn't him.
- It was him. I know his voice.
- He has no voice.
- He has a voice. A beautiful one.
- That was your voice.
- Everything you know about him is what I've read to you from the letters he has sent.
- To me?
- Oh, no... not to you. I'm sorry.
- This feels like a nightmare.
- Then wake up. Wake up!
Alright. I wake up. Same winter Saturday morning in June. Same cold. I feel tired, I feel so sad. I go back to sleep. Maybe this time he'll talk.
I'm going back to sleep, till summer comes.