Sometimes I have a feeling that the only one who will remember me is the login form on my WordPress page.
– Are you scared?
– We don’t ask that.
– What do we ask then?
– We ask ourselves is it worth it.
– Is it worth what?
– Worth living if there is nothing to fight for.
– And what do we fight for?
– The only thing worth fighting for – love.
– You know I like you.
– Well, I remember you saying it only that one time.
– Once is enough.
– No it’s not!
– What if I once told you that I hate everything about you, what would you do?
– I would slap you and left you right there.
– You see, once is enough.
– I let him talk to them.
– Didn’t he say they were gone?
– He lied.
– You say that with a smile that is so him.
– I know.
– There it is again. You are becoming more and more like him and I’m not sure I like that.
– You’re wrong, I’m becoming more and more like me.
– I still don’t like it.
– Then you don’t like me.
– If he still talks to them, how can you be so sure he is still yours?
– He’s not mine, I only love him.
– What is art?
– Anything you love but can’t explain why?
– Is love art then?
– Oh yes!
– I hate writers. Just look where all the shit that happens started. It’s always a speech or a quote that inspired some idiot and now he has followers and money and..
– Women. That is what you mind the most, right? The women around them. Women that are there because of some words a writer wrote.
– Because your wife or a girlfriend left you for a writer. Or you dad was one and you never saw the magic that he tried to pass down to you. And let me tell you something. The magic? It’s real. That is why there are followers, money and all those women there.
At least that’s the way I would write this dialog we are having right now. It’s more interesting then you just hating on writers. That’s why people loved House, he said shit like this.
– There’s a shirt I love. Every morning it’s the first shirt I think of when I open my closet. It’s rarely there. It’s either on the chair or in the wash but I think of it every single day. Of course, I can’t wear it all the time. But every time I stand in front of a mirror in a shirt that is not that one I don’t look as the man I want to be. There is always that thought that I could look better, be better, if only I was wearing that shirt.
– Are you still talking about the shirt?
– Was I ever?
What was the last thing she said? – A lie. – And you? – Bye.
It’s not the Moon, the stars, the night. Nor the waves crashing or the pebbles rolling. The soft wind it is not also. The quiet might be but is not. It’s the fact that she is holding your hand. It’s love.
– Are you OK?
– No… but I never felt better.
She knows that no is just me playing my fantasy of living in a movie so she waits with a smile for my drama to end. It takes over me, like dopamine. She knows it is part of the promise I made to her – it will never be boring.
I am her dramaking, but I still treat her like a queen.