Sometimes – amidst bouts of boredom – I let my mind wander into the future. There is a woman there, or at least the idea of one; I no longer bother myself with giving her flesh and blood.
And in these sessions I always end up asking the same question:
What will I mean to her, after she has decided to love me?
And then the question vanishes as swiftly as it appeared, like a passing honey bee on a warm Spring day.