He plays along. He's got nothing better to do than to eat cereal and watch bake-off reruns. They're a world apart, it's easy to type a few letters and seem interested. He doesn't care enough to not take part and that, he has found, is the key. It's not that you need to care enough to do it, you need to not care enough not to. And so he can type in the words and say what she wants and maybe he even gets something out of it. Happiness? No. Satisfaction? Not quite. But it's something, something is there. And he realizes that, for better or worse, he'll have to do it again in order to put a name to it.
No comments:
Post a Comment