And so it goes. And so.
I knew it might only be once. Good-by, I thought, even at the time. Good-by. (…)
And I thought afterwards: this is a betrayal. Not the thing itself but my own response. If I knew for certain he’s dead, would that make a difference?
I would like to be without shame. I would like to be shameless. I would like to be ignorant. Then I would not know how ignorant I was.