the weight of daylight inside a glove

In the fall of ’95, Gezvila saw the sea for the first time. At the port of Kulevi. I learned from him during that time. He wanted to go back to you, to the tower block next to the river. Where he waited for the leaves of the tree to grow again, so he could see them. Now the day came when the first leaf appeared. He saw it and died the same evening. My letter never reached him, I still had something I wanted to show him. He sat there, as always, with his hand on his desk. I wanted to say something, I think. After that it was already March. (r.p)