I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong.

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It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.

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Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.

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Whatever it is you're seeking won't come in the form you're expecting.

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What happens when people open their hearts?" "They get better.

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If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.

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Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?

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No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.

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Nobody likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to make friends, that's all. It just leads to disappointment.

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But I didn't understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.

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