The Woman Destroyed

Sadness can be wept away. But the impatience of delight—it is not so easy to get rid of that.

How long would he have gone on cheerfully doing without me?

And I still love life too much for the idea of death to be a consolation.

Had he loved me as I loved him?

But could he fill this emptiness within me?

My life was hurrying, racing tragically toward its end.

He loved me; I could have no doubt of that. Did anything else matter?

No: it was merely that he wanted to get rid of me.

I questioned myself. Had I been too demanding with regard to him?

The vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. When you’ve lost that, you’ve lost everything.