In speaking of this desire . . . I feel a certain shyness. I'm almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each of you – the secret which hurts so much that you take revenge on it by calling it names like nostalgia and Romanticism and adolescence, the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that, when, and every intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves, the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell.