Yes, I’m thinking about him. But I recognize the self who has just done something horrible like a sister I’ve casually met on the street. “Hello, sister!” It’s like there’s two sisters of Faith and Chance. My Faith can’t exclude Chance, but my Chance can’t explain Faith. My Faith didn’t allow me to wait for Chance, and Chance didn’t give me enough Faith. And then I read that private life is a stage, only I’m playing in many parts that are smaller than me, and yet I still play them, I suffer, I believe, I am! But at the same time I know there’s a third possibility, like cancer, or madness, but cancer or madness contort reality. The possibility I’m talking about pierces reality. Oh, I’m unable to say it, maybe. Maybe it’s impossible to say, or maybe I’m too stupid. You’re looking at me as if to tell me that I need you to fill me up, as if I’m an empty space. Well, I love you too, but what makes me go on is to know he’ll return, and I’ll make him suffer, and I’ll hurt him, and I’m betraying him, but this brings me small rewards. Well, but yet…I can’t exist by myself because I’m afraid of myself. Because I’m the maker of my own evil! Goodness is only some kind of reflection upon evil. That’s all it is.