Though I just had dinner, I snacked on yours (mixed salad, fettucine carbonara and chocolate cake, the last which you ordered just for my sake) and sipped your camomile tea, and told you a story from the latest book I'm reading. It's Haruki Murakami's After the Quake, and in it there's a story about a man who build bonfires. I didn't notice I kept gesticulating as I went into my usual detailed accounts till you smiled and I made you explain why. I tried to stop and you said I wouldn't last 5 minutes. And I didn't even last 5 seconds. Anyway, I liked this particular line in the story which goes:

"I've never once thought about how I was going to die," she said. "I can't think about it. I don't even know how I'm going to live."

I said that's my problem too. But I didn't tell you that this problem was suspended during that bit of time I spent with you.