I Asked Her About Life,

People Who Commit Monstrous Crimes Are Not Necessarily Monsters. If They Were, Things Would Be Easy. But They Aren't And It Is One Of The Experiences Of Life.

Why Does What Was Beautiful Shatter In Hindsight Because It Concealed Dark Truths?

It Wasn't That I Forgot Hanna. But At A Certain Point The Memory Of Her Stopped Accompanying Me Wherever I Went. She Stayed Behind, The Way A City Stays Behind As A Train Pulls Out Of The Station. It's There, Somewhere Behind You, And You Could Go Back And Make Sure Of It. But Why Should You?

It Is Hard For Me To Imagine That I Felt Good About Behaving Like That. I Also Remember That The Smallest Gesture Of Affection Would Bring A Lump To My Throat, Whether It Was Directed At Me Or At Someone Else. Sometimes All It Took Was A Scene In A Movie. This Juxtaposition Of Callousness And Extreme Sensitivity Seemed Suspicious Even To Me.

She Was Struggling, As She Always Had Struggled, Not To Show What She Could Do But To Hide What She Couldn't Do. A Life Made Up Of Advances That Were Actually Frantic Retreats And Victories That Were Concealed Defeats.