41. It was never enough with her. I was always doomed to failure. Whatever we did, it was never enough. No matter how close I held her. No matter how long I watched her sleep, no matter how long we looked at each other. No matter the fucking, the lovemaking. It was never enough. There was only so far. Only so deep we could dive until the air ran out. There was always a wall too high, too thick. For a while we tried with language. Long conversations. All the questions. All the answers. We tried with sex. Wrap your legs around me, hook your ankles, dig your nails, pull with all your strength, bring me in deeper. Turn this way, turn that. We filled and emptied each other in every way we could imagine. But that too, for all the rush and pleasure, that too was failure. We tried and I like to believe, even now, that the trying counts for something. The trying in spite of doom. The trying to spite the doom. Isn’t that what makes heroes of us? Isn’t that the very nature of living?
