Both were sullen and quiet as other people entered to watch the movie. Olivia listened to the soft German whispers. She glanced at Dimitri, who seemed a mile away. There was no doubt his mind was on Daniella. It had to be the worst feeling, making love to a man knowing he loved another woman. Guilt, shame and overwhelming disappointment shrouded her once liberated mood.
Soon after the movie began, Olivia started to cry, but it wasn't the movie. She felt as though she was watching her own life. Why am I me? Why am I not you? Who am I? The questions were so complex, yet so simple. If the questions were so simple, why are they so hard to answer?
She didn't remember when sadness annexed her life, but she was able to see it in pictures and hear it in her voice. She became crass and blunt. What was it that made me this way? Was it really Trent? I care for him. He is a good man. Is it movies? Is it the fans, the media? There was really no one she could blame her angst on; it just existed inside her. Numbness arose when there was no release. Sex became unfulfilling. The limelight ceased to excite. Designer gowns did not differ from ten-dollar rags. The movies she made no longer inspired.
Wings of Desire character Marion struck her deeply—the winged beauty on the trapeze. She flew so high and with ease for everyone to admire, but inside she was haunted by sadness and fear. No one saw her pain; she never showed it, yet every performance she thought of letting go and falling to her death. Every performance was a near act of suicide. This is my life.