What a lark, this method-writing.
I swore never to ask again, but keep breaking promises to myself. Not my scene to crash, but will if you still want me to. Then again, I never really knew what you wanted. I can be a friend and a fuckup; a confidante. Whatever else. But never wanted to be another burden. Living as I have, it’s best not to expect too much of anything/one, for what can I earn with these temperature-fluctuations and crossed wires?
And in so doing, where would we go from the wreck?
(Born wicked, most likely.)
This might seem less of a mimed romcom – or tragi-comedy – if we actually spoke a few lines. I’m fucked if I’m delivering all the dialogue myself. I only sound harsh because I am tired of not knowing the full script. Sound familiar?
Unless that was never your intent, in which case, never mind; I’ll walk out of scene.
Speak your brains, or let me get on with switching the worlds around as I see them. God knows, there’s enough going on, which I want to be involved in. You might have noticed. If you don’t, I’ll have to assume we’re reading from different scripts.
You can’t be intimidated by your own student-shadow?
And don’t doubt this love, for all the sometimes-distance. It is self-preservation; my silent grace.