In Portuguese Namoro is the period of relative intimacy that usually precedes the official engagement. Rather than translating it with “flirtation”, “flirting” and the like, we preferred to keep the original.

In an essentially fragmentary, fluttering vision of the love discourse, respecting the radical discontinuity of the storm of language that rages in the head of love: history never takes hold. The voices of the story come and go, vanish, overlap, no one knows who is speaking: someone just talks; there is no more image; but only language. But the other is not a text; it is an image, one and coalescing. Action understands me because I am in love, but it has no development. A distance could be redefined, with hindsight, because I have identified my love object but I am not part of it, no longer, never. The loving object is a delicate, distant object that I like to look at, observe, because I am enraptured by it.