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All the best ones went. We were left with the lesser ones. It's always like that in war.
'I love you,' I tell her.
'That's a terrible thing to say to a girl,' she replies
What are the old for, if not to envy the young?
Perhaps this is an illusion all lovers have about themselves: that they escape both category and description.
Would you rather love the more, and suffer the more; or love the less, and suffer the less? That is, I think, finally, the only real question.