She asks what I'm trying to distract myself from. "Existence. Sitting in a room, breathing air. The pain of thought. Having to make decisions.
I find a lot of things melancholy that others don't. Pubs, lights in a dark street, the sound of a far away car. Streetlight on a hill after midnight. I find all these things unbearably poignant. All of them confront me with myself, with what a strange and terrible thing it is to be a man. They all seem to tell me, in a silence that speaks articulately, that man is a creature about which nothing is known.
But one must follow the promptings of one's heart even if it leads to the depths of Hell. I am an artiste, of course, a universal genius, un peintre. I followed my black little heart, and that's where it led me".
"And are you happy now?" she asks.
"God, no. But at least I do what I want. That's the main thing."
"Naprawdę było miło cię poznać. Dziękuję".
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