more of that selfish scene

"I wanted to tell her with my face and mouth and with my eyes, in this room, by her bed, that I do not know how to be normal. And I saw clearly that she understood, because her face was hesitant and expectant, looking for clues, or rather, for one big clue, almost as though a word could drop from my mouth and she would nod in acceptance.

She looked ill and tired, as though lately roused from sleep, and it was this too that contributed to the openness of her face, to that thing or state that I saw in it. What was it?

Human honesty, something close to acceptance: I recognised it solemnly, afterwards the thought of it moved me, because I had never seen it before.

And I wanted to say, "Since coming to this city I have been a lonely wretch and a fool. I have lied, but now I am speaking from the heart and my heart is bitter. Therefore I complain and never cease.

There was always something else to do... turn on the TV. The end of my life approaching swiftly and yet I feel no sadness. I feel young, I feel even a certain elation. Like I'm at the threshold. But I rejoice that I have survived intact. Even though not breaking out of my solitude.

Yes, love; I return to my old theme. People that after a while leave an impression behind for whatever reason.

And yes, once again, death; the end of the line, end of my line, and the guarantor of all joy. This is no mere poetry. I will always have a heart even if it is useless. Is it useless to love? For me? How can it be?"