It is a labor to forget those once loved. My Parisian friend asked me, “Is love possible? And not in a friendship?” I had to tell her, “I don’t think so.” A friend of mine is struggling in his marriage—the problem being that his wife is “emotionally checked out of the relationship” and is satisfied with that. This dynamic is more common than people let on. Romance and love become marriage and parenting, which often degenerate into the disconnected cohabitation of two veritable strangers, more business partners in the raising of children than anything else.

Is it idealistic to ask for more? To expect perfect lasting love that sustains a spark, along with beautiful children, a lucrative (and fulfilling) career, good health, and a country house? When I hear of people staying in unhappy marriages, “for the sake of the kids,” “for the sake of avoiding an unpleasant divorce,” I cringe. I am a firm believer in the unapologetic eradication of denial. There is nothing worse than living a lie. Sometimes the only way to maintain human energy is to trudge unabashedly into the darkness, and to hope for spring.

The above picture is of two little fellows that my Parisian friend mustached and named: “Alberto Donatti.” He is quite cute, in the end.

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