Another voice over
There have only been two women in my life. And I have never understood what they wanted from me. I remember the back and forth movement and, underneath, intentions that have to be deciphered to the best of my ability. The hand ready to caress ends up striking, the tongue ready to kiss ends up licking, the organ ready to penetrate ends up loving. But the brain meanwhile chooses its favourite thought and refuses with a thousand defences to face up to its reality. My life has been a more or less happy or painful succession of things and people. My mistake probably has been not to hold on to them. People has passed through me, over me, beside me, and then have left without me really knowing what I ought to do to make them stay. She too has passed, without any intention of ever staying. I can no longer understand how I could have believed otherwise for a single second. I have looked for her, wanted her, desired her, waited for her. I have given myself, have opened myself up as never before. She hasn't been able to say no, for she has never been the object of such intense interest. However, she has remained anchored to her own life, crippled by fear and powerless to escape. She has been the only one and will always be the only one, but I have to use what is left of my strength to stop her from putting me through this endless torture. I need to kill all hope, all desire, all longing for her. She has to be no more than a memory that I will drag around and which will eventually become so familiar that I can forget it from time to time.