in all these years, I have never shed a tear for her. Instead, I write about her. Bringing her back to life, over and over. Trying to understand her. Or perhaps to punish her, or just to remember, to feel, to accept, to forgive, to love
Do you have anything in common? No. Is she intelligent? No. Then she understand you? No. Then the only thing she can give you is sex. The only unbearable thing is nothing is unbearable.