Chapter 14 of Don Quixote feels like a reminder that idealized love can turn beautiful people into ghosts living inside their own memories.
A dead man speaks through his poem.
Love, but only as suffering.
Then she arrives.
Alive. Calm. Clear.
She doesn’t play the game.ccccc
She doesn’t owe love back.
For me:
He dies for love.
She simply refuses it.
And suddenly…
freedom looks like cruelty
to those who don’t have it.