ava wirth

“I thought about an article I had read about premature death after Florence died; the one in which an advice columnist advised a grieving father not to think of the life his teenage son would have led had he not been killed in a car crash. This fantasy, she said, was an exercise of torture rather than of comfort. “You know, that life isn’t happening elsewhere,” I said. “It doesn’t exist in another realm. Your relationship with that man was seven years long. That was it, that’s what it was.” “I know.” “Your life is here, now. You’re not about to live a tracing-paper copy of it.” “Yeah, I suppose it’s better not to dwell on what could have been.” “Don’t think of it as Sliding Doors.” “I love that film.”
― Dolly Alderton, Everything I Know About Love