I can’t stop thinking about Diana.
I can’t stop thinking about Rodney.
I can’t stop thinking about Sam.
I can’t stop thinking about Trevor.
I can’t stop thinking about Julia.
She left four years ago, this month.
He left four years ago, this month.
He left six months ago, this month.
He left six years ago, this month.
She left three years ago, this month.
…Come back, please.
CLOV:
Why this farce, day after day?
HAMM:
Routine. One never knows.
(Pause.)
Last night I saw inside my breast. There was a big sore.
CLOV:
Pah! You saw your heart.
HAMM:
No, it was living.
(Pause. Anguished.)
— Samuel Beckett, Endgame
Hurt, too.
