Take two, she says and her motherly voice does not offer an alternative. Swallowing the pills, the daughter goes back to her bike. The island is round and the wind square. They have been cycling all day, mother and daughter in their fasciated shirts, driving across the island, going in seemingly endless circles. The grass looks soft as it is moving with the wind,  the sea, the sand, the cliffs and the genial desires of the mother. The daughter fights with a comforting landscape and a storm in her head. She rides as quickly as she can, gathering the saliva in her sugary mouth, full of coffee breaks and an exhaustion that cannot be drowned, not even where the sea has its deepest spot. She closes her eyes and she pedals as strongly as she can. When she opens her eyes again, she sees those reddish horses eating the green grass and bending their necks down the ground, petted by the wind and singular sun rays. She sees them from above as they become smaller and she keeps cycling without feeling any resistance. There she flies. The island has become a mere form, untouchable, only visible. Oh, how she would have liked to desire this island like her mother did! But she could not.
She falls into sleep, the bike flies away into another direction to fall soon into a field of sunflowers where the birds are going to free the air in its wheels with their beaks. It is the smell of smoke that wakes her up again. Opening her eyes she can see little houses, fields of onions, carrots, strawberries. She sees the dark green woods that taught her to desire and fear at the same time. The smoke comes from a little garden full of roses and hyacinths. It is a gentle smoke that smells of wood and home. She descends and lands on a marble table where two white plates and two glasses are set. Her father has not noticed her yet who seems to be preparing a grill. I want two, she says and he turns around, not surprised even a little by her presence. Okay, I'll give you two, he says.


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