Dessislava

“You try every trick in the book to keep her. You write her letters. You drive her to work. You quote Neruda. You compose a mass e-mail disowning all your sucias. You block their e-mails. You change your phone number. You stop drinking. You stop smoking. You claim you’re a sex addict and start attending meetings. You blame your father. You blame your mother. You blame the patriarchy. You blame Santo Domingo. You find a therapist. You cancel your Facebook. You give her the passwords to all your e-mail accounts. You start taking salsa classes like you always swore you would so that the two of you could dance together. You claim that you were sick, you claim that you were weak—It was the book! It was the pressure!—and every hour like clockwork you say that you’re so so sorry. You try it all, but one day she will simply sit up in bed and say, No more, and, Ya, and you will have to move from the Harlem apartment that you two have shared. You consider not going. You consider a squat protest. In fact, you say won’t go. But in the end you do.”
― Junot Díaz, This Is How You Lose Her

“but back then, in those first days, I was so alone that every day was like eating my own heart.”
― Junot Díaz, This Is How You Lose Her

“Then you look at her and smile a smile your dissembling face will remember until the day you die. Baby, you say, baby, this is part of my novel.

This is how you lose her.”
― Junot Diaz, This Is How You Lose Her

“Вече се случваше още преди да се беше случило, грешката идваше насреща му с протегнати ръце, като майка, готова да го грабне – все същата грешка, идваща, за да го вземе, без обещание за целувка.”
― Ian McEwan, Lessons