One quiet Sunday afternoon we entered the Cathedral of Cagliari, the ‘Duomo di Santa Maria e Santa Cecilia‘. While I descended into the crypt, the Sanctuary of the Martyrs with 179 niches containing their relics. I lost her. She only remembered hypocrisy while I was thinking of innocent minds in pure belief miraculously cutting out colored marble. Apart from politics as usual, logic questions and scientific answers, comforted in all kind of alternative lies, no longer soothed by enigma in dogma, the faintest understanding of eternal riddles, contemplating whether asking again for the known way, believing in unknown destiny; she waited outside on solid stairs bathing in earliest springtime sunshine.