never ask questions if you don't want the answers. just don't do it. especially in bed.
I have to know if it could work.
I have to give it another chance to work out, he said. She has tolerated so much, been through so much. I owe her.
And me? I asked. You don’t owe me anything. You say you love me but you don’t owe me anything.
That's not it. It’s years with her, he explained. It’s old love.
. . . . . .
I knew what he meant.
Old love, old knowing. I could still count our inside jokes on my two hands. But
after four years with someone, or more, and more time spent with them, time spent knowing them, listening to them
...I know how they pile up, the jokes and pieces. The discarded bits of knowing.
I don’t know what to do.
I think: The more time I spend waiting the more beautiful you will think I am because really deep down you may not actually respect women but you love them and admire them for their beauty and you always do respect martyrs. I say:
I could spend time with you, give years to you, and things could just never change until one day you’d say,
Oh. I was wrong. She’s the one. Goodbye.
Yeah, he said. That could happen.
and I felt so bad because my fear implied that I was too weak to live for today.