Sometimes we do crosswords. He introduced them, I’ve never bought any of those publications. One Sunday, visiting his father and sister, I learnt something. ‘I don’t like them,’ Marina said in their living room while Jonás and his father were taking things out of the car boot. Ana liked doing crosswords, and Jonás used to help her ever since he was a boy. ‘I was never part of that, crosswords bore me to death,’ Marina said.

It feels like the sun is making things better, like the warm weather is helping. Summer in Mexico City doesn’t go in a straight line. The same day can switch between baking heat and a storm. The next morning can be the other way around, or take a different course altogether. The same day can tie the two ends of the rope together. I was born in summer, and if I had to choose a static horoscope, a single defining statement, I’d choose this description from Shakespeare of the summer in Mexico City: ‘Welcome. A hundred thousand welcomes! I could weep, and I could laugh; I am light, and heavy. Welcome!’ From one extreme to the other, everything can change in a flash. Just like after an accident, and just like when I met Jonás. One day you’re here, and the next you’re over there. Because, oh, Wild is the Wind.

Could night and day be a dwarf model of winter and summer? It seems more plausible for a relationship to end at night than at midday. I imagine it’s easier to get into an argument in the middle of the night. For the leaf, hanging from the tree, to fall in the cold. Perhaps death also has something wintry about it. It looks like a family winter is on the way, but I have a feeling my father will stay standing. If he breaks like a branch I’d like him to lean on us, on my brother and me, but for that he’d have to be open with us, which I can’t imagine. Sometimes I wonder if men’s emotions are like a closed box somewhere in the distance, so far into the distance that the distance is where they are. I wonder if they’re illegible. But if you can’t stop the winter, can you delay the following summer? Oh, tell me, Jonás, when will the sun come out?