THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
I don't know if you know this feeling- When you walk to the train at four in the morning through the city and the fog and you watch the sun come up very slowly as you ride, almost completely alone but for a few businessmen, in your car, as you twist about the hills, and you arrive at the airport just slightly too early and you've got too many layers of clothing because it was cold and it was raining just slightly and you can't remember the last time you slept or when you will next do it again and you pay five dollars for one cup of coffee too bitter to drink although that is not surprising and every single part of your body is hard and exhausted and your brain knows nothing but the task ahead of it, and even that is somewhat unsure, and you are sitting damp and sore and uncomfortable in a cathedral of strangers and their families and their briefcases going very different places than you and you are, in all ways, origin and destination, very truly and miraculously alone.
I find that after an entire night of crying incoherently, until your eyelids are swollen, until the insides are gone, there is nothing left of you, you don't know your name-
the feeling is comparable.