[ she can't help a small swell of something like resentment-- more directed at figures from her past than anything in the moment. love unrequited is cruel in its own way. she has seen it, felt it.

it makes her dwell on the faceless image of the one called claudia, and her voice is a little distant when she responds at length: ]

I find that women often love men that do not love them in return. I cannot account for the logic behind it. I can only continue to equate love and pain.