From Diary, 1997
<p>The ocean crashes and tumbles ashore, angry, restless with itself. I know how the ocean feels. I don’t think any man has ever lived and been loved more but neither has this man been so misunderstood.</p>
<p>Hear me, see me, touch me even, but I’m not here. I may as well be dead but of course, I’m not. I’m just a man living with all a man’s faults and some extra besides. The lies: the circle of stories to make me feel better and less to blame. The insensitivity of living this way.</p>
<p>Sometimes I think I’m done, I’m over the idea that one day you’ll step from an Alitalia flight. So, instead, I write to a woman out there; a presence who understands me, wants to help me, love me, hold me, but she is not real, of course, she is not there, but still I write, hoping.</p>
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