Your merciful God. He destroyed his own beloved, rather than let a mediocrity share in the smallest part of his glory. He killed Mozart. And kept me alive to torture. Thirty-two years of torture. Thirty-two years of slowly watching myself become extinct.
It’s so much easier to be happy, my love. It’s so much easier to choose to love… the things that you have. And you have so much… instead of always yearning for what you’re missing… or what it is that you’re imagining you’re missing. It is so much more peaceful.