One month

If I see my wife again, at some party for instance or an airport I think I would go up to her. I would not be able to stop myself from saying just one thing:

"Do you remember? When I said, 'What was the expression that wriggled across on your face when you saw me sitting here? It was as if you had touched a cold thing'

You said, 'Orpheus.'

You caught that allusion without any difficulty.
See--we were so well suited for one another, despite our occasional quarrels. "

Despite the difference in our age, despite yourself, despite cars and blankets and ships and sealing wax.
You were unkind to me--I would say this too.
When she left I helped her pack. I called for a taxi. I never asked her to stay.
I never rebuked her.
I never thought I had cause for rebuke.
But she was unkind. Can we fault people for being unkind?
I had thought that it was because she was younger. But I would tell her ( at this point, I would have to hold her wrist to prevent her from turning away )

"Perhaps I have placed too much an emphasis upon age. Carelessness is not inherent in youth. You did not have to do what you did. Melissande married a mortal. He did not need to be unkind to her. But he was. Perhaps we should exercise our options more carefully. I was going to explain all this but explanation is only apology. I wonder why we cannot time ourselves to coincide, to decide beforehand that we will agree upon certain issues. Why could we not read our futures and act accordingly?
I should have waited but I was so afraid you would leave me.
That your whim would turn elsewhere.
I was so afraid you would do this-----I had to know.
Things haunt me.
But you know-----even a month would have been sufficient. I would not have tantalized you beyond that. I wanted you to wait---originally it was year. You see----I am not a rigid man.
I compromised much. I struggled with doubt.
Only a month.
You could have done that.

I am demanding too much, I understand. I cannot seem to accept the transiency of human beings. I can accept decrepitude, disaster, death---I cannot accept a change of wind.

But why ?
I want my days to be filled with a charmed constancy, an unswerving pattern, ritual. I want a guarantee of unextended happiness as I touch you. I do not know why I chose you. None of it was planned. Could I control my heart, I would have chosen a horse, a rose bush, the sun. I would not have chosen you. I would have continued speaking to the blond cellist, gone back to eat more sticks of celery. I would not have willingly inflicted my demands on anyone as weak as you. I would not have broken you as I have. You were clever. But cleverness has nothing to do with strength. I had thought---I was mistaken---- that we were more than simply two people who would hurt one another. "

Why is it that I only speak after everyone has left the room?

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