I turned off the TV, looked at the time, and said to myself just a moment ago “It’s eleven O’clock, and you can never talk to Sara again.” I’m still not used to the idea of that. I used to be able to talk to her … whenever it occurred to me to do so. I used to be allowed to love her. Now even just thinking about her is just a sign that I “haven’t moved on with my life.” Nowadays thinking about any of the people that I’ve loved is just living in the past. What can I do? I still love them. Their memory is recent on my heart, and their impression is still fresh on my life. I know how to live without them, but they will always live with me in my heart, and it causes me great strain to be this way.
I think the thing that gets to me, the question whose answer I can’t seem to grasp fully, is “What’s next?” I get up, I go to work, I come home. I eat, I drink, I sleep. Then what? What’s next? I meet someone, I get to know them, I like them. Then what? What’s next? How much, how far, how long? How deep, how intimate, how honest?
Someone else lives in her house, now. Someone else has always lived in her heart, but my hope seems to know no bounds, and that has never seemed like it stood in the way of our love for each other fulfilling its own promise. Even when we have spoken our last words to each other, after we have seen each other for the last time, after she has moved away, never to return, my hope believes that everything will work out for the best. I do not necessarily believe that this is untrue, but I can see that what is best for the two of us may not turn out to be each other. It could have been great, but maybe not the best. They say the best is yet to come.
I am so tired. I don’t know how to be. If I go to sleep now, will I wake up?