Steak, whiskey, conversation. Good Monday night.
Glad I can't get this out of my head.
It's the tragedy of loving; you can't love anything more than something you miss.
"When I was very young and the urge to be somewhere else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy described was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked."
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