O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.
Presumably, remembered suffering never feels as bad as present suffering,
even if it was really a lot worse – we can’t remember how much worse it was, because remembering is weaker than experiencing. Maybe that’s why
middle-aged people always think their thoughts and feelings are more
important than those of young people, because they can only weakly remember the feelings of their youth while allowing their present experiences to dominate their life outlook.
With everything the way it is- I mean, Alice living out here in the middle of nowhere, and all our friends like, emigrating constantly, and I have to buy illegal antibiotics on the internet when I get a urinary tract infection because I'm too poor to go to the doctor, and every election everywhere on earth makes me feel like I'm physically getting kicked in the face. And then not to have you in my life?