She is a woman so intensely destined for happiness (if only purely physical happiness, mere bodily well-being), and yet she has chosen, almost casually, it seems, solitude, loyalty to an absent one, a refusal to love…
I can’t remember what it felt like to be in love with you. I just know that something’s missing.
The definition of beauty, Valéry said, is easy;
it’s what leads you to desperation.
Dress suitably in short skirts & strong boots, leave your jewels in the bank, & buy a revolver.
What was my childhood disease? Love, I suppose. I was susceptible to contracting great love, suffering the chills and delirium of that pox. But it seems I am safe now, unlikely to contract it again. The advantages of immunity are plain. People contort themselves around the terror of being alone, making any compromise against that. It’s a great freedom to give up on love, and get on with everything else.
This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
The next person I love, I will sit across from in silence. We will have to learn it from each other some other way.
I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about the big bang.’ The sun said, ‘It hurts to become.’