It reminds me of a story that happened to me in Paris, in the metro, ten years ago. I had just broken up with my first love. I was pacing around a station platform, tortured at the thought that this move could be a wrong decision. I suddenly felt an urgent need to stop my doubts, in any way. A voice in my head whispered "Put your hand in the trash". The parisian trash can, I swear you don't want to touch it. Yet I did so without hesitation: I dipped my hand in the rubbish. I felt the crumpled pages of a newspaper. I ripped off a bit of it. There was just a title written on it: "It was not better before ...".