The confessions of Carme Elias to Nuria Navarro. He has Alzheimer’s. It is not the first testimony of the disease, but it impresses the same (or more) That the others. Especially because of the evidence of a circumstance that often goes unnoticed. We understand Alzheimer’s from the final stage, from the moment when everything is hazy or dark night, when everything dissolves and we contemplate that lost look, that look. But we do not perceive the crudeness of the process. We approached him with that sensitive testimony by John Bayley, which later became a film about the inevitable decline of Iris Murdoch, or in that other story – ‘Always Alice’ – in which a linguist assumed with tension and pain the progressive loss of language. Now, Carme Elías leads us to a present in which consciousness dissolves little by little, where the house empties, where immediate memory of things disappears, of gestures, of writing. The moments when you know the eyes will fade. Moments that are now and that you live under the design of a story that you know how it will end. Moments where the eyes still shine. Where you are still, as always, knowing that you will not be that look.