In a dream, Nastagio degli Onesti calls me by name and shows me a painting : a knight hunting a woman he once loved, ripping out the heart from her dead body. Beyond the frame, the knight weeps. The woman, restored, weeps too. After life, the cruel fate of people who reject love.
The next afternoon, someone tells me there is no afterlife. And then I understand: for people who reject love, life is afterlife.