'I don't really like leaves.''Why is that?''They make no effort.''What do you mean?''They spend all their time sitting up in the tree, doing very little, looking down on us all, and then, when a slight gust of wind comes along, they just fall down. They don't even try to hang on. They just let it happen.''It's a neccessary part of the life-cycle of a tree. It needs to lose the leaves to conserve engery through the winter. It's just not pratical to have leaves when there is little sunlight.''I still don't like them.'
Play the piano. Hammer down those keys and create splendid chords. Leave your left hand on automatic as it walks across the lower notes. Let your right hand run and jump and slide, making sure to end in a flourish. Hit the right notes. Hit beautiful, minor and major notes that colour the mood a beautiful purple and red and orange and blue. Play faster. Faster. Still not fast enough. Look at the smoke coming off your fingers. It shoul hurt. Your fingers should protest in an ecstacy of agony. Play the piano for me. Play it with your soul.
-This is getting worse, you realise.-I do realise.-Your words are decaying. Rotting in front of your eyes.-I know they are.-It's all going wrong. Your refuge no longers contains the peace that you crave. Your words are letting you down.-Or am I letting my words down?-Both, I suppose. A symbiotic relationship falling apart. You will look back on these months and wonder what went wrong.-I suppose I will. -You should probably just give up. Stop planting words.-That is an option, certainly.-You should seriously consider it.-I will.-You should stop.-I will.
I saw you, for the briefest of seconds, and saw what you would look like five years from now. I saw you at university, smiling, holding you books. I witnessed your future, and it was beautiful.The future seemed so certain. Now it is not. Your future, my future, the future of my friends, has changed from the future that I saw a year ago. All the while, the sky has been crashing around my head, and I've been too self-absorbed to notice it.It makes a spectacular scenery, don't you think, dear? I want to cry, my dear.