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no word for what I’d lost other than love.
‘Over the years, one learns …’ I trailed off. What does one learn? To fear all strangers, and distrust even those close to you? To dissemble whenever possible? That utter loneliness is inevitable? That your lover of eight years will never stay more than one night, will become ever more distant, until you finally break into his room and find his cold, grey, vomit-encrusted body slumped across the bed?
despite all this, the idea of normality fills you with complete dread?
