I need to become who I already am.

I lied for you and that is why I cannot love you.

Don’t even think about it. Who would have children. You have kids, they grow up, they hate you and you die.

PHAEDRE: You’re in pain. I adore you.

It’s fear that keeps me away from the train tracks.

Because love by its nature desires a future.

And I go out at six in the morning and start my search for you. If I’ve dreamt a message of a street or a pub or a station I go there. And I wait for you.

I sing without hope on the boundary.

If there is a God, I’d like to look him in the face knowing I’d died as I lived. In conscious sin.

Burning in a hot tunnel of dismay, my humiliation complete as I shake without reason and stumble over words and have nothing to say about my ‘illness’ which anyway amounts only to knowing that there’s no point in anything because I’m going to die.