Friday, September 19


In the end M. and I broke up over Puccini. One night he invited me to visit a concert with him in Amsterdam. The strange thing is that I don’t even remember which concert we went to, or what the music was like. All I remember is standing in the foyer and talking about Puccini.
M. said that to like Puccini was a mortal sin, like saying you liked a fishburger over real fish. Instead of moving on to the next subject I felt upset, as if Puccini was a distant relative of mine.
We argued during the entire break, and when we went back to the remaining part of the concert I knew that everything we had was lost.
After that I never listened to Puccini anymore, not even once.