Who are you in love with?" I said then.
For a minute Marco didn't say anything, he simply opened his mouth and breathed out a blue, vaporous ring.
"Perfect!" he laughed.
The ring widened and blurred, ghost-pale on the dark air.
Then he said, "I am in love with my cousin."
I felt no surprise.
"Why don't you marry her?"
"Impossible."
"Why?"
Marco shrugged. "She's my first cousin. She's going to be a nun."
"Is she beautiful?"
"There's no one to touch her."
"Does she know you love her?"
"Of course."
I paused. The obstacle seemed unreal to me.
"If you love her," I said, "you'll love somebody else someday.

Autore: Sylvia Plath