"What are you sorry for?", she asked, catching me by surprise.
She was now looking straight into my eyes. I could barely see my reflexion in her look. A blurred and really confused picture of me. Certainly that's how she sees me now: a remote, too absent and fleeting presence in her life; in her world. I've known her for a long time, but still, I've always felt like she was too hard to be understood. And that drives me crazy, all the time. I've never understood the way she spends hours and hours writing; the way she talks too loud; the way she reads those novels, that I could never really bare… All of those things that build her way of being herself. I've never found out a way of dealing with it all… But still, I know I do love her. I really do. I just can't (under)stand her, at some moments.
"Of not loving everything about you."