Actually, it's been more than a thousand days, but I'm not the bean counter.
I tell him, "I knew a man who sat with his freshly estranged wife outdoors at the Saloon near Lincoln Center and, over fried zucchini, he asked her if she'd ever loved him, and she said, 'I can't remember. Perhaps I did, but I just can't remember.'"
- from A Thousand Days in Venice by Marlena de Blasi
I know exactly what she means. I can't remember either.
I guess it is true: the opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. And with indifference comes not a willful forgetting, but a gradual erosion of relevance, until in the end, you just can't remember.
And neither can you even summon the desire to try.
How many more ways are there to say it's OVER?
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