When young, we mourn for one woman. As we grow old, for women in
general. The tragedy of love is that man is never free, yet strives for
what he can never be. The thing most feared in secret always happens. My
life, my loves, where are they now? But the more the pain grows, the
more this instinct for life somehow asserts itself. The necessary beauty
in love is in giving yourself to it completely. Only later will it
clarify itself and become coherent. When you hear about things like this
your faith in life and its little miracles increase.
And then you don't have to wait too much for the letdown either.
And then you don't have to wait too much for the letdown either.
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