This passage is from the book I've just finished reading, "The Dark Man" by Paul Auster. I like this passage because it reminds me, somewhat, of myself.
The passage is told by an older man who has recently lost his wife. He is talking about her to his granddaughter, retelling tales of what it was like in the early days of their marriage.
"All right, let me change gears here and think for a moment. What was Sonia like? What did I discover about her after we were married that I hadn't known before? Contradictions. Complexities. A darkness that revealed itself slowly over time and made me reassess who she was. I loved her madly, Katya, you have to understand that, and I'm not criticising her for being who she was. It's just that as I got to know her better, I came to realise how much suffering she carried around inside her. In most ways, your grandmother was an extraordinary person. Tender, kind, loyal, forgiving, full of spirit, with a tremendous capacity for love. But she would drift off every now and then, sometimes right in the middle of a conversation, and start staring into space with this dreamy expression in her eyes, and it was as if she didn't know me anymore. At first, I imagined she was thinking some profound thought or remembering something that had happened to her, but when I finally asked her what was going through her head at those moments, she smiled at me and said, Nothing."