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  • "I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time."
    -- Virginia Wolf, in her last note to her husband.


    "So, did you read it?"
    "Yes. Yes, I did."
    "And what did you think?"
    "To be honest, I didn't care for it."
    "Whyever not?"
    "Frankly, it wasn't your best work. I just think... I know you can do so much better than that."
    "Well, I tried to narrow it down, keep it to the point, you know."
    "But it was stripped of your usual flair. It seemed a bit... impersonal, I guess, like it could have been written for anyone, like you haven't even bothered to make an effort."
    "Remember what they used to tell you to do with the phrases you love most? Kill your darlings, that's right. Kill your darlings."
    "Is that what we're doing here?"
    "I think so."


    she’s a girl out working her trade and she loses a little each day


    "We've been here before, haven't we?"
    "Once or twice."
    "At least. Sure you won't change your mind this time?"
    "This time I'm sure. And you will finally be able to get some rest."
    "I don't need to rest, I don't want to! I've grown accustomed to chasing you in and out of shadows, like a flickering thought I'm unable to grasp, unable to hold, to phrase."
    "Well, no more."
    "You think I'll stop chasing you if you leave?"
    "You'll have to, won't you."
    "I don't think I will, I can't imagine I'll be able to ever stop wanting to figure you out."
    "You must have known from the very beginning it would only be a matter of time before I'd be gone."
    "I kept you as long as I could."
    "Yes, you did. But no more."


    "Was it all for nothing, then? Our conversations, our exchange of ideas, thoughts, experiences?"
    "Not for nothing. We made the best out of the time we shared, but now it's time for me to move on."
    "And what am I supposed to do?"
    "Go on, like you always do, in your effortless manner, without me there to cause you any more pain."
    "Was your fervent mind ever capable of receiving my attempts to console? Has my caring left any sort of imprint on your soul?"
    "Does it matter? It's not like I could take it with me, anyway, it's not like I have taken anything from you."
    "Not what I meant."
    "You know, when every corner of confidentiality is lit up, there is nowhere left to hide the things you don't want anyone to see. But right here, right now, I tell you there's a soft spot in me that's reserved for you."
    "What does that mean?"
    "It means that some of your words will stay with me until the end."
    "And everything else?"
    "Is erased."
    "Do you know what that does to me, do you realize how much it hurts to hear you say that?"
    "I'm sorry, but soul trading was never my game. You never had me, not entirely, I was never yours, nor were you mine. Our paths crossed, happily, but now we're continuing in different directions."
    "Simple as that, huh?"
    "Simple as that."


    "These words, what do they mean?"
    "They're not words."
    "Well, these signs, then, what are they?"
    "I think of them as scars, all the pain I carry inside, my confusion, transcribed onto sheets of linen and hung in front of the open window. See how they move in the breeze? They come alive, like newborn bodies, like marble skin; pure, white, like flowing thoughts, and you can read into them whatever you wish."
    "I'd rather have you explain them to me."
    "And take away the thrill of illusion, of wonder, of mystery?"
    "I long to understand, don't you see?"
    "I have lost the will to communicate."
    "No, not you, never. Please, tell me what it means."
    "I won't."


    she can’t recall what they represent, and when you ask she won’t know


    "Tell me what I can do?"
    "Not a thing, you just need to let me go."
    "I can't. I won't. You know I'm going to try everything that's in my power to stop you from doing this."
    "It's already done, though."
    "No, it's not! It can't be; you're still here."
    "Not really. I left some time ago, while you were busy doing whatever it is that you do."
    "If I had been aware then, could I have changed your mind?"
    "Not likely."


    so hundreds of years go by (the red road carved up by sharp knife)


    "How am I supposed to cope with your absence?"
    "The same way you coped with my presence; tend to your garden of poetry, cultivate your words in silent contemplation, watch them grow."
    "But who will I share them with if you're not there?"
    "You will find someone, I'm sure."
    "No one like you."
    "No one like me."


    and with a goodbye there she goes  
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