Getting Lost

by Annie Ernaux

It occurred to me that I hadn’t asked his wife’s name (a subtle form of jealousy, or the desire to annihilate the other woman).

Also because passion inexorably abates.

The beauty of this whole affair lies in its continual uncertainty. But I don’t know the nature of his attachment.

I haven’t changed, I’m still that girl who believes in happiness, who waits and suffers.

The only thing that matters to me is to seize life and time, understand, and take pleasure.

For the first time, I see myself as other, very different from what I am now, undeniably younger, and severe-looking.

I sometimes think that we’re mysteriously linked to other beings and that their death produces “waves.”

I reflect that a body is breath—life and desire have no gender. I knew it at fifteen when I asked Colette if we could kiss on the mouth “to see what it’s like.” It was a failure, our knowledge of each other made it impossible.