It's a Greek classical tragedy. Nothing more, nothing less. It's a gallery of actors, fooling them self that they are greater than life. No one is to blame, no one is wrong... but in our search for the good we kill each other.
It's about me loving her. About setting my life up to let her choose it. About feeling her in ever breath. But also about her dreaming about something else. She is craving for something that I can never give her. It's not a matter of affairs, petty jealousy or anything like that. It's about the power of our history and the life we've lived. How it's much bigger than our selves. Sometimes we pretend to follow our hearts, sometimes we think we can master life with our brains. But in truth we're nothing but toys in life's games with us, and neither hearts or minds have a say. Just these terrifying and awesome powers of destiny. The powers that mute us and make us dumb.
It's not a matter of not understanding, or accepting. To my mind her thoughts are perfectly sane, and I fear I wouldn't be able to express my own thoughts that well. My heart is overflowing with compassion for her desire, in the solidarity of hearts. The heart can never beat at the expense of another, and it want to see it's comrades free. But yet it hurts...
Maybe it's the powerlessness that hurts most. To realize that there is no room for sober solutions or rational choices. There is no room for our will, just for prayers... I put my fate in the hands of something bigger. And wait... Console doesn't exist either, except maybe that classical tragedies make good stories. Maybe the only great stories.