You produce about a thousand and five hundred halves of little humans per second, and now four hundred million of them are about to enter the final part of the exit path. The situation is routine, but today deserves attention because for the first time there is a half waiting on the outside. It wasn’t easy to arrange this. Billions of years of evolution shaped every detail of your bodies so that they could attract each other and execute the movements of a very precise dance; you both had to overcome repression, shyness, lack of experience, and practical obstacles; inside her body, halves waited for thirteen years to start descending, one by one, month by month, until this one made itself available for this moment; inside your body, halves matured for sixty-four days, traveled six meters through the epididymis and vas deferens, bathed in seminal fluids, were guided by the dance to position themselves where they are now, almost almost almost coming out; and the long drama will have a resolution in the next fraction of a second because you have no choice but to make a decision. Do you pull or not? Her eyes are anxious, turning, almost closing, almost giving up, and you rejoice in how much she struggles to keep you in her field of vision, you who never imagined being capable of causing something like what you see now, something unable to fit in the body, overflowing as if it were sweat, coming out with the voice, with spasms, with the gesture of squeezing and scratching you at the waist, showing itself endless but awakening an absurd desire to finish that doesn’t compare to anything you’ve ever desired, not because of the ending but because of the journey, a stroll through paradise, an Olympus promised by biology with hormones and synapses and neurotransmitters, a joy so violent that it wouldn’t deserve further consideration if humans weren’t so complicated, because deep down you know what to do, or rather, what not to do, don’t be stupid, this is a risk not worth taking, the dread you have of what might happen!, but, oh, unjust fight!, conviction finds no place in the pure and tense pleasure of the current mind, resistance needs to act like a clandestine force, hidden subconsciously, making itself present as a vague hesitation and finally a reflexive backward movement when the liquid begins to advance along the final path, a sensible but useless movement because your companion makes a pinching gesture holding her right nipple with the index and thumb of her left hand, and because of that you lose control, push deep, and decide to deserve this ecstasy that you would no longer renounce even if the firmament started collapsing on top of you. Afonsa, lovely storm in the form of a child, will be born this year on the first day of spring.