"you aged. oh, then, so you must be real." so she gathers, her little truths must have been found in movie lines. he looks at her, a little questioning, and feels for his chin. no stubbles. wrinkles? grays come a little later. they were young. silence.
my dreams have colors. yup, in that dream i was colorblind. i saw three, at the least. petals. leaves. perhaps the other was of earth. yes. she should have seen more than only three. but in that dream, she was colorblind. the others were made gray by forgetfulness.
they can never be reenacted, you see, dreams. realities can mean constant structures. dreams, they fall apart just the moment we wake up. the death in my dream, even if only teasing–but i knew a ghost in a dream could be real awake–was by far the hopeleastness. or hopelessnessest? exaggerated words. yes. of course she knows drama. it’s been playing in her mind. she just had to smile. he makes her happy, you see.
and you, instead, make her sad. you took the beauty of her melancholy. clumsy with cakes. the drama. she’s faking it. she’s happy. you know she is. but her sad eyes. when they are hiding secrets, they look sad. a joke. she was thinking of this joke. but a shy comic, she is. don’t pour anything in my eyes. he had asked.
poke a blind man’s eyes, and it will still hurt.
i laughed a silent one. we are asking the same thing.
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