It was her soul I loved. Was it all an illusion? You know, one time, she was trying to tell me about some old man she met in the forest, who’d been very kind to her. She was trying to find the right words to tell it… how special the moment had been. She couldn’t find the words, but it didn’t matter. It was in her eyes, Pierre.
When I think of Boris, I can’t really remember him at all, even though he kissed me. I try to remember him, but somehow his face doesn’t come. No, nothing. Isn’t that terrible?… Will you write to Boris? No. No, I’d be ashamed to. Ashamed? Why? I don’t know, it would just feel awkward. False. That’s because you really love that funny one with the glasses! Pierre? I do not! Where did you get that from? Seeing you dance with him. What strange ideas you have.