reading journal

Understanding that if love is to be great it must also be complicated, she had put together for herself the reassuring vision of a perfectly ordinary relationship, as harmonious and calm as a desert of ice. For her, love had the peaceful appearance of silent habits, of the rather dull moments of everyday life, reproduced to infinity. She took pleasure in imagining the small rituals that would order her life: the quick morning kisses exchanged before leaving for work, dinners shared in front of the television, Friday night movies, Sunday mornings reading the papers in bed. In fact, she was dreaming not about a man but about a couple whose clear, smooth life would perpetuate itself, confident and indifferent to the world.