I acquired that drinker's face before I drank. Drink only confirmed it. The space for it existed in me.

Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened.

Alcohol is barren. The words a man speaks in the night of drunkenness fade like the darkness itself at the coming of day.

What she said was always strange. It had happened long ago. It seemed insignificant. And yet it was something you remembered forever. The words as well as the story. The voice as much as the words.

Banality is sometimes striking.

We, her children, are heroic, dersperate.

A prolonged silence ensues. The reason for the silence is our growing interest one for the other. No one is aware of it, no one yet; no one? am I quite sure?