At some point, it becomes bearable. It turns into something that you can crawl out from under and… carry around like a brick in your pocket. And you… you even forget it, for a while. But then you reach in for whatever reason and – there it is… Which could be awful – not all the time. It’s kinda not that you’d like it exactly… So, you carry it around. And uh… it doesn’t go away. Which is… fine, actually.
Yes it’s fine actually. It will be. It has to.
As the film credits rolled, I headed straight for the tiny bathroom and stared at my reflection for a long time. I still don’t know what came over me.
Maybe it is about the writing. About how it releases the tension. How you can be distanced from the emotions. In my dreams, I can do what I want but yet I don’t realise that I want that. It is this freedom and the happiness. Or maybe it is the possibility of forming an inexplicable affection for someone, even unreal.
Calvin had absolute control over Ruby. Yet he was happiest when she was just herself. She had no control and she didn’t know. Yet it didn’t stop her from being herself. This is perhaps the essence – having control can make you happy with the now, and only that. Having none does not mean you stop developing a semblance of worth.
This is the true and impossible story of my very great love… All the same, I cannot help but write this for her, to tell her “I’m sorry for every word I wrote to change you, I’m sorry for so many things. I couldn’t see you when you were here and, now that you’re gone, I see you everywhere.” One may read this and think it’s magic, but falling in love is an act of magic, so is writing.