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“I knew he would date again. Probably within weeks, just like Max had done. I imagined all the women Jethro and Max would date, while they were “confused” and “not ready,” standing next to each other in a long factory line. Each of them would give these men something—a story, a weekend away, their attention, their advice, their time, a sexual adventure, an actual adventure—then they’d be forced to pass him along to the next relationship. These men would emerge at some point, full of all the love and care and confidence that had been bestowed upon them over the years, and they might commit to someone. Then, most certainly, another one. Then another one when that one got boring. Their greed would not be satisfied by one woman, by one life. They’d get to lead a great many lives. Life after life after life after life. Because these men wanted to want something rather than have something. Max wanted to be tortured, he wanted to yearn and chase and dream. He wanted to exist in a liminal state, like everything was just about to begin. He liked contemplating what our relationship might be like, without investing any time or commitment in our relationship. Jethro liked talking about the home he would buy with Lola, but he didn't want to turn up to the viewing. They were like teenage boys in their rooms, coming up with lyrics to write in their notebooks. They weren't ready to be adults, to make any choices, let alone promises. They preferred a relationship to be virtual and speculative, it could be perfect. Their girlfriend didn't have to be human. They didn't have to think about plans or practicalities, they weren't burdened with the concern of another person's happiness. And they could be heroes. They could be gods. It was pathetic.” — Dolly Alderton