Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.
Why are you leaving me? He wrote, I do not know how to live. I do not know either but I am trying. I do not know how to try. There were some things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So i buried them and let them hurt me
When you’re young, you’re afraid of being alone. Solitude is a burden and you try to escape from it. You always wonder when it’s going to come to an end. Sometimes you can’t get rid of it. At the age of 38, you use it in a different way. You’ve learned how to live with it, and you don’t try to get rid of it by all means anymore. After all you may call this resignation, but I don’t think it’s harmful. You’re not just standing there, in pain, asking yourself “Why am I alone? Why don’t I go out?” You don’t ask yourself these questions anymore. You adapt yourself. Living alone does not mean living in nothingness