Simon: I’m sorry. We could be good companions. Cassandra. We could read poetry together. I could play you music, you’d make me laugh. Wouldn’t that be a nice little life?
Cassandra：It wouldn’t be enough.
Simon: I don’t ask for ecstasy.
Cassandra: I mean, enough for me. Simon, I don’t want to go through life like my mother. I’m afraid that I’m no really loved. Even if it meant I could go through life with you.
Perhaps he meant it. Perhaps he will come back. But everything feels fractured and my heart is bruised. Still, better all that hurt than to have know no pain, learnt nothing. There is only the last page left to write on. I fill it with words of just one syllable: