A young woman travelling through Europe meets a young artist in Amsterdam. He plays a sad song on a scruffy guitar. She listens, rejoicing with her whole being in the song’s words; so profoundly touched by how the songwriter manages to build and crash the hope of love eternal. Not a tale of romance gone wrong, but rather the universal tragedy of love unleashed.
The man turns to her and says he was surprised to see such depth of sadness in her eyes as he played. He says it in a way that is half fascination, half abhorrence—wondering how she could be so very much other than all the other women he had played the song to.
She looks back at him, puzzled. Until then, she had believed everyone felt deep sadness every day. But now, that guarded look in his eyes—previously so sexually charged—makes her feel embarrassed. Shamed, even, for having shown her vulnerability.
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