I must tell stories.

"She was lovable. She clung to that. She was worthy of being loved. That was what mattered, wasn’t it? Even if he had married someone else? Even if he had wrecked her hopes?
She was lovable. It was what she had. In her dreams, she heard him say he still loved her, that he didn’t forget her any hour of any day. She was unforgettable. That was the most important thing. Better, even, than being happy.
And where did that leave her? Alone on her Greek urn. Lovable but never loved.
She was free of risk. Bold within her limits. It was the same old hedge."