Forlorn, Marilyn spent most of her time in bed, feeling nauseous and exhausted and alone. She thought often that what she missed most about her youth was not the loss of her beauty or her figure, like women usually said. She had never been all that pretty to begin with. What she missed was the capacity for love. That intense love, which she and Herbert felt for one another in the beginning, and for music and art. You couldn’t ever love that way when you were older.
