He absent-mindedly quoted Picasso, “Women are either goddesses or doormats.”
Except that every woman might be a goddess to one man and a doormat to another, she thought. Why is it, we only desire the ones who perceive us as doormats? Or is it that desiring them transforms us, in their eyes, into doormats? She supposed there are women in the world who only want to be perceived as goddesses, to be the one desired. But there's a liberty, a release at last in being able to desire instead of always being the desired. The unflinching pose of a goddess can be very exhausting. Still, the world certainly does love a bronze statue.
She had said, I love you. She had said, I love you and I want to be with you.
He quoted Picasso, and she wasn’t sure which kind of woman he was implying she was. She knew only that he was trying to extricate himself.
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