Belief is such a strange thing.

We are taught that belief compels some sort of action. But I am baffled sometimes by what we believe and how we manage them. What I believe, and have taken it as some sort of secret despair, is the knowledge of an imminent death of the soul and the ever shapeless and senseless, non-discriminatory forms of love we often assume already exist. If you can say that your marriage is a mistake, then you shouldn’t say it. If you can say that you love her, then say it a hundred more times.

What am I trying to say, really? What I mean is, I don’t know where to begin. Mental acceptance and repudiation isn’t sufficient.

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