We met at a train station. Just one passing another by. We began a short conversation but one that brought our being in life straight up to a deep surface. My train arrived but she succeeded in something that the modern world does not achieve, by flipping out a business card out of nowhere — those antiquated tiny things made out of paper, with the simplest contact details.
As I sat in the train, tears came.
What touches us in such fleeting moments? If we know not what the soul is, what is actually touched? We did not even have the time to shake hands.
Whenever impressed by music, I speak of being touched. But what is that what is touched?