If people are highly successful in their professions they lose their senses. Sight goes. They have no time to look at pictures. Sound goes. They have no time to listen to music. Speech goes. They have no time for conversation. They lose their sense of proportion — the relations between one thing and another. Humanity goes.
I didn't have to think up so much as a comma or a semicolon; it was all given, straight from the celestial recording room. Weary, I would beg for a break, an intermission, time enough, let's say, to go to the toilet or take a breath of fresh air on the balcony. Nothing doing!
Time heals. It's slow and it's painful but it works. Talking helps, going out with other people, seeing friends. She'll be like a book you read long ago. If you trust that if it's meant to be then it'll be again, and if it's not you will wake up one day and realize that you hadn't even thought of her once. And then you'll be free.
I just can't convince myself that everything is okay again. Rationally, nothing has really happened to me. My days are spent as they always have been, but when I am lying alone at night in my big bed, I'm lying on a bed of pins. I can't sleep anymore.