Let’s just go to bed, she says. But let’s not get all crazy. I hug her for the next seven hours on a very small bed, each of us facing the same wall. I kiss her neck for maybe 15 minutes, and she falls asleep half way through. Clothing is never removed. Nobody gets crazy. Tomorrow, I will take a shower and leave before her digital clock reads 9:05 A.M. We will exchange cordial good-byes. Later that day, Leonore will send me the nicest e-mail I’ve ever recieved from anyone, and reading it will make me want to hide in a cave for 10,000 years. It will make me feel like I am reading Leonore’s obituray in the newspaper. I will send her an e-mail in return, and will pray that she finds endless happiness in life, and I will always secretly hope that she never likes another man as much as she likes me, even if she ultimetly loves that man more. And we will never see each other again.
El anterior es el párrafo más triste de Killing Yourself to Live, de mi amado Chuck Klosterman.