A.N/ I obviously own nothing to do with anything 'Anna Karenina'. Please review!
Does he love me?
Does he still love me?
No, of course not, he must resent me.
Does he love me?
Does he love me?
Does he even still care?
Does he still possess love for me?
No, no, no, there won't be any love left. It will be nothing but resentment and regret that there was ever even love in the first place.
Was there ever even love?
Yes, yes of course there was love.
But is there still?
No, no, no.
There isn't, I know it.
I have used up all of the love that there is. When we met it rained. There were booms of thunder, lightning flashed and, the heavens opened wide and wept. It collected in a shallow pond; it, being his liquid happiness, his liquid spirit, his liquid love. I, my selfish, thoughtless, and greedy self, drank. I drank from the pond until there was but emptiness left. I, content on merely indulging myself, ignored his thirst, to relieve my own. I never once remembered to practice the forms of sacrifice that so often arrive intertwined with love.
It should not be a surprise that he had no qualms about appeasing his mother and interacting with her; the daughter. The daughter that had nothing but a well, ready for him to drink from. He, Vronsky, my love, was dying of thirst; for I had been living off his love and there was nothing left.
There was nothing left.
There is nothing left.
There is nothing left of us.
There is nothing left of my name.
There is nothing left of me.
(There were crowds, lots of crowds at the train station.)
When did he stop loving me?
When did he stop loving us together?
When did he stop loving me?
(Was it her imagination that the crowds parted like the red sea before her? Or was she simply too far lost in her mind most of the time, thinking only of where she had to be and when she had to get there, that she had simply never noticed the efficient system that allowed her to move about the station without any form of interruption? Now she had only one place to be, nowhere.)
How am I myself?
How could God created me, such a woman of shame?
How has it that I was left alive, only to cause harm?
(She did not notice nor take recognize of any of the faces she past in the sea. Nor did anyone recognize her, a rarity in such recent times.)
When did he stop loving me?
Did he truly ever love me or was he simply like a child admiring and treasuring the delicately painted face a china doll yet reaching a certain age, letting go of the once treasured possession?
Did he love me when we first met?
Did love me as a man lay dead on the train tracks?
Did I inspire him to give the widow money?
Would he have done it had I not been there?
Would he have done it for anyone?
Will he do it for anyone?
(All she heard was a loud whistle.)
(She was not conscious of moving forward.)
A.N./ Okay so this is mainly based off of the movie. I adore the movie. I am in the middle of the book but I just started so I'm only about 150 pages in so I haven't gotten to this scene yet and am sorry if it's not accurate to the book.