Lizzy's (Frivolous)

"To me, his ways of thinking were always frivolous. Almost comical. His obsession with that book. He'd read all 150 pages of it every night, after his usual cup of peach tea and before brushing his teeth, at 11 p.m. It took him about one hour to read it, and I'd sit and watch and drink tea. And when he'd finish the book, he'd look up, a look of satisfaction and a childish smile on his face. This went on for about two weeks. Have you become sick of the book?, I asked him. No, said he, I just want to read something else. And he did. In French.

But that book was still his favourite. He kept it on his bedside table, and he'd put his glasses over it before sleeping. It was a book about two people who'd never met, but were seeking for the same thing, or something. There was a lot of symbolic stuff on that book, I remember he'd ask me what the meaning of this or that was.

Sometimes, he really was frivolous. He'd laugh at something for hours, and when he finally stopped laughing, he couldn't remember what it was that set him off in the first place. Sometimes, this annoyed me.

I suppose we were in love. I was in love with his frivolity and he was in love with my matter-of-factness. We had been together for a great deal of time, and lived together for a while, and we knew each other pretty well and were comfortable with each other. I suppose it was love.

Either that, or comfort.

I like to believe it was love, before he left."