Call Me by Your Name 9.2分
读书笔记 Ghost Spot
软妹嗓的小可爱

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Time makes us sentimental. Perhaps, in the end, it is because of time that we suffer.

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Over the years I'd lodged him in the permanent past, my pluperfect lover, put him on ice, stuffed him with memories and mothballs like a hunted ornament confabulating with the ghost of all my evenings. I'd dust him off from time to time and then put him back on the mantelpiece. He no longer belonged to earth or to life.

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Or was it that I was jealous of his family, of the life he'd made for himself, of the things I never shared and couldn't possibly have known about? Things he had longed for, loved, and lost, and whose loss had crushed him, but whose presence in his life, when he had them, I wasn't there to witness and wouldn't know the first thing about.

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A heart stolen from a tale by Poe still throbbed under the ancient slate pavement to remind me that, here, I had finally encountered the life that was right for me, but had failed to have.

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We belonged to each other, but had lived so far apart that we belonged to others now.

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We'd traveled and been through too much without each other for there to be any common ground between us. Perhaps I wanted him to feel the sting of loss, and grieve. But in the end, and by way of compromise, perhaps, I decided that the easiest way was to show I'd forgotten non of it.

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