I am 46, and have been for some time past.
A man can go from being a lover to being a stranger in three moves flat but a woman under the guise of friendship will engage in acts of duplicity which come to light very much later. There are different species of self-justification.
A man of such obvious and exemplary charm must be a liar.
Death is only a small interruption.
And without understanding, could each properly love the other?
The evening passes somehow; I watch television with Nancy, or I write. It is difficult, not having a family, and it is difficult to explain. I always go to bed early. And I am always ready for Monday morning, that time that other people dread.