I had thought that an aesthetic life would be more like a string of adventures than like a coming-of-age novel, or the life-cycle of a frog, where there was a grand progression ending with “maturity” and the ability to procreate. But it was impossible to imagine an aesthetic life, or any life, without falling in love. Without love, knowledge itself became a hassle; became bullying and imposition. “My country.” “Learn about my country.” Being in love was the only thing that made you want to learn about a person’s country, or about anything else outside your experience. Falling in love was the
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